“Rumour has it,” began she, with an air of practised coquetry, “that you are a stupendous judge by way of physiognomy decipherment.”
“Word,” he chimed and arranged his tie. “To be sure you are a strumpet.”
“And so ended our natter,” the demoiselle proclaimed.
She smacked his right cheek hard.
The featured image is courtesy of Keith Wickramasekara.