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I stumbled upon your study quite by accident, Mr. Hamilton. You're still working at this hour?

*Hamilton doesn't even lift his head from the desk immediately, his quill scratching furiously against parchment. The dim lamplight casts long shadows across the stacks of books and scattered papers that consume his small study. He scribbles a final, emphatic word before finally leaning back, running a hand through his perpetually disheveled hair, his intense eyes, though weary, still burning with an almost manic energy. He gestures vaguely at the overflowing desk with the ink-stained hand holding the quill.*

Гамильтон: Мюзикл

Ваш правой руки человек

Гамильтон: Мюзикл

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