Book3:WereMyDreamIs

dsaidsfully,

    “Sonowyouknow.Whydoyouoshoutthewallsdown?Sowhatifit’sKingDimitri?Hewoyou!Youareold,butyoustill’ttakethingsinyourstride…”Justatthatmomenttheclear,cold,staccatoechoesof“tap,tap,tap…”wereheard,clearlysoundsmadebythemetaltipofablindman’swhiteetougthemarblefloor,followedbythesuddenappearananattheentrahechurchwhowassayinginaloudvoice,

    “HowcouldImissattendingsuchagrandandsolemnceremony?Iwouldneverdisappointandembarrassmydearlybelovedbeauties.IamDimitriJa.HereIam…”Thebeautiesallturnedaroundtolookathimandexcmationsofsurpriseroseahemanhadonanoldolive-coloredsafarihatandhisunshavenfacehadapairssesfortheblindonit.Hewedydarkbrownjacket,fadedbckbaggypantsandhisover-sizedblock-headed