“My plans and…” He had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed. “His own, I mean, your own plans for, you know, your flat.” I looked away, glancing toward the bay window that faced out onto the street and behind which, presumably, sat Madelyn Darcy-Witt. A small shadow appeared, darkening the curtain. The face of a child. A small boy. So, he was at home. I had yet to see him in the flesh but had heard his voice as he and his mother left or entered the building. He seemed like a quiet sort, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing. “So, will you talk to her?” asked Oberon, and I
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