Harris Richie sat on a far-off single seater sofa.
Her legs were crossed, her hair was a bit messy, rudimentarily tied up, and her skin looked unhealthy, quite pale. You could still see the purple hand marks left on her neck by Amelia Smith.
Even so, she emanated an air of complete ease, casualness, and laziness.
She didn't seem to care about her current situation at all, even enjoying observing the spectacle they presented.
Eleanor Smith stopped speaking upon hearing her laughter.
Amelia Smith also looked at her.
Harris Richie kept laughing.
Eleanor Smith asked, "What are you laughing at?"
"Don't you find it amusing?" Harris Richie replied, laughing, "It's too funny."
"You must have a problem," Eleanor Smith said, "I suggest that you see a psychologist. It's acceptable if you're sick, but don't hold up others."
"Hold up others? Who have I held up?" Harris Richie replied with a laugh still on her face, "And what can you do even if I have held you up?"
