When I accidentally do, however, the near-smile hasn’t spread. He’s not laughing. If anything he looks even more intense than he did before. He’s leaning forward a little now, with one hand on the arm of the chair, and as I slowly restart this clumsy strip, his eyes follow my hands.
He watches me slide the wool down over my knees, occasionally tilting his head this way or that – as though to get a better look, I think. He wants a better look at something so completely ridiculous.
And I don’t know what to think of that.
I know it makes my breath come in shaky bursts, however. I know it makes me even clumsier. For a long moment I can’t quite get the tights over my ankles, and I wrestle with them briefly before finally giving in.
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