“Paranormal entities don’t come when you whistle,” Angelica tells her. “They’re not like live-in Filipino maids.” I’d be stung by that, but for Fern it’s water off a duck’s back. “It’s ‘Filipina,’ for females, you’ll find—and I’d know, of course, being so awfully, frightfully posh.” Fern places one of her Gauloises cigarettes between her lips and lights it. Angelica’s squished like a bug and I think, Direct hit! and Fern gives me a knowing look.
