(no subject)
A young man walks in, dressed well in what must be the best fashions of his time. His face, though naturally given to a smile, is watchful, as if he (and, to be honest, he is) unsure of his surroundings. He leans against the wall.
I can't help but notice this isn't England. Or perhaps it is a part of it that I don't know, but it isn't like any place I've ever seen either. I don't usually end up in the wrong place. *pause* Hello?
Typist: Entirely fresh start, with new typist, for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes from The Scarlet Pimpernel.
I can't help but notice this isn't England. Or perhaps it is a part of it that I don't know, but it isn't like any place I've ever seen either. I don't usually end up in the wrong place. *pause* Hello?
Typist: Entirely fresh start, with new typist, for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes from The Scarlet Pimpernel.