[ swaying inside, she takes stock of the room without really processing it. it looks so like what she expects—worse, that's not a word she applies—and so much like a stranger's place. the home of Herlock Sholmes that someone who does not know him would imagine.
no Iris. no joy.
she drifts to the settee.... and sits. on the paper and everything. ]
no subject
no Iris. no joy.
she drifts to the settee.... and sits. on the paper and everything. ]