Mark Spain Forever You

Mark Spain Forever YouMark Spain Flamenco IIMark Spain Flamenco I
what we have here is not a nice girl, as generally understood. For one thing, she’s not beautiful. There’s a cer-tain set to the jaw and arch to the nose that might, with a following wind and in the right light, be called handsome by a good-natured liar. are.
There’s a skylark in the hot summer sky. Apart from that, there’s no sound. Down in the little valley, and higher in the hills, grasshoppers are sizzling and bees are buzzing and the grass is alive with micro-noise. But it’s always quiet around the stones.
“I’m here,” she says. “Show me.”
A figure of a dark-haired woman in a red dress appearsAlso, there’s a certain glint in her eye generally possessed by those people who have found that they are more intelligent than most people around them but who haven’t yet learned that one of the most intelligent things they can do is prevent said people ever finding this out. Along with the nose, this gives her a piercing expression which is extremely disconcerting. It’s not a face you can talk to. Open your mouth and you’re suddenly the focus of a penetrating stare which declares: what you’re about to say had better be interesting.Now the eight little stones on their little hill are being subjected to the same penetrating gaze.Hmm.And then she approaches, cautiously. It’s not the caution of a rabbit about to run. It’s closer to the way a hunter moves.She puts her hands on her hips, such as they