oh, this is most unfortunate, charles exclaimed.
what , exactly, is unfortunate? jessica asked.
somebody has left a message for cynthia. in an unmarked envelope.
is it anonymous? such things usually are.
i should have to open it to find out. but it is addressed to cynthia.
if i recall, you said it was unmarked. how then, can it be addressed to cynthia?
quite so, if you must be a bloody pedant. i meant, of course, that there was no indication on the envelope as to who had left it.
i am not sure i like your tone of voice. i was asking a perfectly reasonable question.
and don’t play the victim with me, charles. it won’t do.
don’t let us get off the subject. what are we to do with this damned envelope?
besides just give to cynthia, you mean?
what do you mean? cynthia is dead, she drowned off the coast of scotland last week.
of course, excuse me. i had quite forgotten.
have you no decency, treating poor cynthia’s untimely demise in so flippant a manner?
who the devil are you to talk of decency?
i’m the bloody archbishop of canterbury compared to you, thank you very much.
forgive me for intruding, but what is all this row?
maurice, you have arrived just in time.
it gladdens me to hear it. in time for what, exactly?
to open this anonymous unmarked letter to cynthia.
you mean lady cynthia powders, who was shot hunting grouse in scotland last month?
no, cynthia brace-benson, who drowned off the coast of that very same scotland, just last week.
i am afraid i never knew her. was she as charming as all the brace-bensons?
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