Aug 30, 2017
“Who told you I was a gum-shoe?” She stared out of her own eyes for a brief instant before the act dropped over her again. “It must have been the smell.” She sipped her drink and stared at me over it with a faint smile of contempt. “I’m beginning to think you write your own dialogue,” I said. “I’ve been wondering just what was the matter with it.” I ducked. A few drops splattered me. The glass splintered on the wall behind me. The broken pieces fell soundlessly. “And with that,” she said, completely calm, “I believe I must have used up my entire stock of girlish charm.”
The Little Sister, Raymond Chandler (via hotelsongs)
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