Fortitude Greengrass. Well, if that wasn’t a name that had strolled right out of some puritan parish of centuries ago! At any rate, Barnaby surveyed the lad a little more thoroughly at the revelation he was of the Spirit Division. That explained his manner of ease at a situation he had only just come upon. “Not one of the usual fellows, I see,” he remarked, narrowing his eyes slightly at the newcomer. Although - by and large, the usual fellows tended to be a pain in his rear end, so perhaps this was a fortunate turn.
So he let this go, for the moment, unless Greengrass saw fit to explain himself. “Barnaby Wye, spirit,” he returned, almost primly. “But upset?” Barnaby echoed, rolling his eyes. “No, ‘tis not I - rather these people,” he muttered disparagingly, “who take affront to trifles. And who seem to believe that just because I am dead that I cannot read,” he bit out, which was well enough near where the altercations had begun; and fine, perhaps he was not the only one in the bookshop affronted by petty spoken slights.
So he let this go, for the moment, unless Greengrass saw fit to explain himself. “Barnaby Wye, spirit,” he returned, almost primly. “But upset?” Barnaby echoed, rolling his eyes. “No, ‘tis not I - rather these people,” he muttered disparagingly, “who take affront to trifles. And who seem to believe that just because I am dead that I cannot read,” he bit out, which was well enough near where the altercations had begun; and fine, perhaps he was not the only one in the bookshop affronted by petty spoken slights.
