"What's the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?"
On the bustling street teeming with passersby, Thales adjusted the tattered little hat on his head and quietly asked Sherryl, who was beside him.
Miss Kevendill had already changed back into her practical and simple travel attire, her hair once again a messy bird's nest. She even dusted some ash onto her cheeks; no one on the street would take her for a noble young lady.
"Nothing, it's just that you are always in fine clothing, yet today, you seem surprisingly suited to this shabby look."
Thales' expression stiffened.
"What do you mean by 'surprisingly suited'?"
He felt the costume he had pilfered from the theater, which even had its edges frayed and turned up, and wore a peculiar look on his face.
"It's your skin, too pampered and out of place," Sherryl ignored his questioning, "Ah, there, don't move."
