But the words that came to her mouth felt like they were stopped by a lump of cotton in her throat, and she didn't dare to utter them.
That night, every word and every syllable Hannah uttered was carved distinctly into his mind with an engraver's precision. He dreamed of her for days on end.
It was Hannah - captivating and intoxicating.
She moved in an enchantingly graceful manner, swaying gently like a willow in the breeze, lightly brushing against the sleeves of passers-by.
When you reach out to grasp it, it slips away.
Desired but unattainable.
Hannah had spent nearly half an hour checking her face in the mirror, confirming that the wound on her face had healed. Yet on closer inspection, there was still a fine scar.
Her already gloomy mood became even more agitated.
Seeing Louis Snyder still standing there, she asked irritably, "Why are you still here?"
Without thinking, Louis Snyder said, "I'm waiting for you."
