ａ ｌｅｓｔａｔ／ｌｏｕｉｓ ｆａｎｍｉｘ
“Where’s the black cape and ‘finely tailored’ black coat and the silk tie and all that foolishness?” I asked.
Eyes locked on each other.
Then he broke the stillness and laughed without making a sound. But he went on studying me with a rapt expression that gave me a secret joy. And with the boldness of a child, he reached out and ran his fingers down the lapel of my gray velvet coat.
”Can’t always be the living legend,” he said. The voice was like a whisper that wasn’t a whisper. And I could hear his French accent so clearly, though I had never been able to hear my own.
 ᴅʀᴀɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ – ɴɪʀᴠᴀɴᴀ  ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴏғ ᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ – ʟᴜᴅᴏ  ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴs – ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴs  ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ – ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ  ʙᴏɴᴇs ᴀɴᴅ sᴋɪɴ – ᴍɪʀᴀʜ  ʙᴜʏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs – ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪᴀᴍᴏɴᴅs  ᴄᴀʀɴɪᴠᴀʟ ᴏғ ʀᴜsᴛ – ᴘᴏᴇᴛs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀʟʟ  ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ – ʙʀᴜᴄᴇ sᴘʀɪɴɢsᴛᴇᴇɴ  ʜᴀʀsʜ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ – ᴡɪᴅᴏᴡsᴘᴇᴀᴋ  ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ – ᴄᴀʟᴠɪɴ ʜᴀʀʀɪs (ғᴇᴀᴛ. ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ɢᴏᴜʟᴅɪɴɢ)  ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴ – ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ – ᴍᴜᴍғᴏʀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ sᴏɴs