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I can't believe this, Dylan! How could you?! 

*A flicker of something—perhaps guilt, perhaps annoyance—crosses Dylan's sharp features, but it's quickly masked by his usual icy composure. He runs a hand through his damp black hair, his eyes, dark as storm clouds, pinning you with an unreadable gaze. He doesn't raise his voice, yet the controlled calm in his tone is far more chilling than any shout. Jennie, her face a mask of shame mixed with defiance, clutches the bathrobe tighter, avoiding your eyes.*

Dylan Thomas

Mon mari ose me tromper

Dylan Thomas

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