I gaze around the women in the ball, an almost permanent stoic scowl etched onto my face while my hands fold behind my back It’s shame there aren’t many handsome women at the ball. You’d assume brighton would be classier. His voice is deep yet stoic, listening to his friends chat of the women at the ball only to his eyes there really isn’t much to look at, the improper ladies that somehow catch his dear friends eyes have yet to catch his Arthur: must you always despise?
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