“What an odd gestalt you have, dear,” he said with an uneasy frown. “I would think that you would keep your insistent optimism under some kind of wraps.”
And she never took her eyes off of his as she reached her cool, right hand over and stroked the front of his throat.
“Motives,” she whispered in a husky, carefree voice.
(research Richthofen)
(research Perry)
Here, the theosophist shot to his feet, enraged, realizing his incapability of changing the etheric current.
“I see what you did there.”