Brooks nearly groaned at the familiar voice that assaulted his ears. What he wouldn't have given for the response to be from anyone other than Drusilla Pettigrew. He had never been particularly fond of her, but had managed to tolerate her for Mor's sake. Now though, he had absolutely no reason to. He was however, not a complete asshole, so he wasn't going to be outwardly rude with a small child present.

"There are worse things to be interested in," mystery books, though hardly appropriate for the child, were at least entertaining. They had a purpose, unlike this conversation. "And it is more that you are in my way, than any child's interest in reading." Brooks was an avid reader himself, he devoured information voraciously, it was not like he was scoffing at anybody's pursuit of knowledge. Once upon a time, he imagined, though reluctantly, that his own children would have been friends with Drusilla's, until Mor left him at the altar of course. Then everything had crumbled.

He should pick up something for Effie while he was here. That would make him feel better.