Within the close confines of Isthmia, what shielded the better sort from the dusky effluvia and clangor of the inducèdly frugal, besides walls, was a massive noise-whitening system. These two feats of segregation and filtration were tributes to the ingenuity of quality in pursuit of purity even in the moribund era of man time on a mote in God’s eye.
Siddhartha Huff maintained a pied-à-terre in The Meadows of Shalimar Suites crowning Lanvin Prospect. It served him for the odd evening when business (or pleasure) kept him in the city center. It was in this residence that Sidd sequestered Claw Hammer, thus buffering his impressionable charge from the bawling strains of street jamborees, the fetor of scruffy pheromones, and the cheap cologne of corner-lounging Freeholies.
Sidd knew he must, in short order, buff Claw’s rough demeanor to a reasonable polish if his plan to assume his own true identity could succeed. Nothing less would qualify the torpid malapert to protagonize the charade meant to be played out in the impending Lunation Gala.
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