[It] kisses you before twisting your nipple and walking away.

There are reviews, and then there’s Not a Review:

“But oh god I adore [The Mercury Waltz]; so dense and lush and grimy and slick and sexy and loveless and love-full and nnghhhh cities and dirty fumbles in the dark, and moral police and scandalised women and queer boys and actors and spies and taroc cards and games of chance and cheap wine and murder and a narrative that jumps characters in mid-sentence and says impatiently keep up or fuck off, but don’t come whining to me if you don’t know what’s going on and then maybe feels a little sorry for you and kisses you before twisting your nipple and walking away.”

A fond farewell

To which the only possible answer is a delighted Merci!

 

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