I cannot believe that sister shrew would dare bring another person into this house. David doesn’t need a governess; he needs to play tag on Widow’s Hill. Blindfolded. No one stays here here by choice, so why would someone move in? A dreamy-eyed peasant who thinks it’s tea and croquet? No. Just too much cheap brandy and silence broken by screaming recriminations.
Does Kitten need a friend? Why? She has me. She has me, my car, and a road that leads anywhere in the country. Of course, she’d want to bring the homunculus along. Her sense of humanity is so damnably inconvenient.
I had one, once. Collinwood takes care of that.
Time to see to dinner.