“What if we could make him leave for a little while?” “Oh, really?” Clemmie demanded. “And how, exactly, are you going to do that?” “I’m not,” Sera replied. “You are.” “I hate you,” said Clemmie. Sera smiled. “And here I thought you’d spent almost twenty years longing for an excuse to break into Albert Grey’s house, spit in his favourite cognac, and knock over his obscenely expensive and dangerously fragile marble statue of himself.” And Clemmie, the fox, showed all her teeth.
