Barnaby sighed, deep and melodramatically, at the talk of frost. He imagined the world felt today like it did for him on all occasions – so biting cold there was a dampness to the earth and a chill set deep into everyone’s bones, living or dead. That cheered him, rather.

“Ah, a maid for whom I would die again at once if I were only given the chance to touch her,” he explained, always pleased for an audience to his whims and his woes. “Have you e’er known a maid like that?”

---