Anna Manningtree Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Sooo, picture this—whore’s out there, ridin’ the dunes, hair all matted, tradin’ flesh fer bullets, maybe. Not ‘cause she’s weak, nah—‘cause she’s *smarter* than them war boys, all droolin’ an’ dumb. “Witness me!” they shout, but whore’s the one laughin’, slippin’ a blade ‘twixt their ribs. Sneaky, precious, sneaky! Did ye know—true fact, swear it—that “whore” pops up in old sailor yarns? Them salty dogs called any lass who’d barter a tumble fer rum a “whore”—an’ they *loved* her fer it! Argh, makes me wanna dance, it does—happy, happy Gollum!

In the play

Manning-tree That he is old (the more the pity) his white hairs do witness it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a whore-master, that I.

So, I get back on the train, and it’s packed. I’m squished between a guy who smells like he bathed in cologne and a lady who’s knitting like it’s the last day on Earth. I’m just trying to breathe and not lose my mind.

Officer books Irish Guineas ticket with Tetrarch success