The easy, unhurried quality of him. His coat back in order. His hands in his pockets.
The flat, observing quality of his gaze, moving from the weeping blind woman held against Veronica's arm down to the hiked skirt, to the thick, round ass exposed by it — the thick, full, soft, heavy quality of her from this angle, the panty damp and pushed against the full flesh of her ass, the rounded weight of both cheeks and the way the skirt's hem sat at the top of them revealing everything below.
He looked.
Veronica watched him look.
Her mouth curved. The knowing, unhurried, this-is-exactly-what-I-thought quality of the smile at the corner of her mouth. Her hand still moving in slow circles on Frau Müller's back. Her eyes on Raven.
She didn't speak out loud. Her lips moved. The small, deliberate, I'm-going-to-make-you-answer quality of her lips forming words without voice:
'Did you enjoy it? How slutty she is.'
