“Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits.” “A wood nymph,” I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. “Yes,” Mr. D confessed. “Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn’t stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. ‘Be a better influence,’ he told me. ‘Work with youths rather than tearing them down.’ Ha! Absolutely unfair.”
