Miriam rolled her eyes. She was terrible, and she knew it, but so was Temperance Fairchild, in a more insidious way. Meer felt for the children who lived with her - the quiet girl, and the Indian boy - and wondered what kind of adults Temperance would produce if she was this insufferable at work.
"You alright?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow, bottle of dittany in one hand. The scratches on Miss Fairchild's back were deep and expansive, and if she had not been so insufferable Meer would have felt terribly for her.
"You alright?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow, bottle of dittany in one hand. The scratches on Miss Fairchild's back were deep and expansive, and if she had not been so insufferable Meer would have felt terribly for her.