Were my voice more lubricious, the halls of Collinwood would be filled with the merriest of ditties courtesy of yours truly.  Burke Devlin is dead.  Let me repeat, Burke Devlin is dead.  And because I enjoy forming the letters with my pen, once more, Burke Devlin is dead.

And I had nothing to do with it.

And Miss Winters needs consolation.

And Burke Devlin is dead.

If only I had a dance partner.  I suppose I’ll have to wait for the wedding!


PS — Well, you can guess.  Burke Devlin is dead!


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