[The physical contact brings another rise to those poetically described cheeks of his, but one does get tired of going on in the manner of Oscar Wilde about attractive youthful beauty. Anyway, he ducks his head again, which is so common with him that it doesn't really reveal that he's flushed again.
Stupid baby.]
I—I am afraid I must not know my own strength, or at least its own delicate quality. I held it a little too hard.
[So it must be made of chalk layers, how could this kid possibly have enough grip to crack something stronger?]
no subject
Stupid baby.]
I—I am afraid I must not know my own strength, or at least its own delicate quality. I held it a little too hard.
[So it must be made of chalk layers, how could this kid possibly have enough grip to crack something stronger?]