We were halfway through a late and rather teary lunch of scrambled eggs, slightly stale bread, and a wrinkled apple from the back of the pantry when the letter was slipped underneath the door. Rosalind flipped it over, scanned it, and handed it to me with a heartfelt scoff. The note was short, just a few scrabbled lines: Please tell the girl she’ll have to leave the city tomorrow morning. If you wish to go with her, we can make arrangements. - Norris
