Jun 01, 2006 18:36
*It's his birthday, and Lord Henry has, essentially, gone into hiding. He is in his library, but he isn't reading. He is, instead, standing by a window, a glass of absinthe in hand-- he isn't far gone yet, but appears to be seriously considering it. He despises the passing of years.*
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*and probably he won't mention it, but when he sees her next perhaps there's an added fondness in his smile, though the expression is as charmingly insincere as ever*
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