two hundred forty-four. [It's hard to confuse those two concepts, really.]
Anthony’s beatnik is not a very patient tutor, and the study-group is still getting absolutely nowhere with their revision of Modern British Poetry. “No, look,” the beatnik says to one of the confused physicists, “You’ve got to understand that just because you got lucky with ‘Lullabye’…gay sex isn’t always the answer.”
“But…Achilles,” the one twin protests, while the other twin laughs.
Hannah smirks, passes a note to Perrin, who unfolds it warily. I’ll bet that’s not what he tells Anthony!, it reads in her bubbly girlish handwriting.
Perrin feels himself start to blush, and he scowls and crumples up the note.
“But…Achilles,” the one twin protests, while the other twin laughs.
Hannah smirks, passes a note to Perrin, who unfolds it warily. I’ll bet that’s not what he tells Anthony!, it reads in her bubbly girlish handwriting.
Perrin feels himself start to blush, and he scowls and crumples up the note.