She had him there; his nose wrinkled. But the coat rack and the door handle were forgivable – more in question was what he was supposed to do with her now, given their last (and first) interaction had ended with her pouring champagne on his shoes.
“Do you know what manners are?” he returned, aware that he had not shown any either. And he didn’t especially want her near his coats, but he was more worried about his most valuable editions of books he’d taken with him from Flourish & Blott’s, and his in-progress translations, empty bottles and snuff boxes used as paperweights, and a mass of drunken letters he had scrawled to Marion (a woman who had married someone else fifteen years ago) variously scattered about the place. There was a maid-of-all-work who came around most days, but she had well learned to tidy the rooms he didn’t care about but leave Mr. Blott’s personal affects in their exacting mess.
He cleared his throat, looking forlornly out at the blizzard and then at his unwanted stray, at an utter loss of what was to be done with her. “So... what do you propose we do?”
“Do you know what manners are?” he returned, aware that he had not shown any either. And he didn’t especially want her near his coats, but he was more worried about his most valuable editions of books he’d taken with him from Flourish & Blott’s, and his in-progress translations, empty bottles and snuff boxes used as paperweights, and a mass of drunken letters he had scrawled to Marion (a woman who had married someone else fifteen years ago) variously scattered about the place. There was a maid-of-all-work who came around most days, but she had well learned to tidy the rooms he didn’t care about but leave Mr. Blott’s personal affects in their exacting mess.
He cleared his throat, looking forlornly out at the blizzard and then at his unwanted stray, at an utter loss of what was to be done with her. “So... what do you propose we do?”
