I have once again entered the realm of the spirits!  But after a crashing hangover, I set to work.


In all seriousness, the ghosts that Madame Findley and I tried to alert the Collins Clan to have not abated.  Odd, since they only cost that poor and deeply stirring woman her life.  You’d think they’d remember.  You think they’d have paid attention.  But no.  What am I?  Is the name “Julia Hoffman” on my driver’s license.  No.  I haven’t the right to stroll into the Collins Asylum at any hour.  Yet.  In any event, I’ve been waiting for them to call, and with the swift regularity of a Swiss watch dipped in molasses, they did.  I’m holding a séance tonight to reach Madame Findley so that she can clear up this mystery, get that family to take my word with a bit more heft, and perhaps feel appropriately awful for harboring the spirit that murdered my fair Madame.

The last sentence can be misread.  Keep it from Bainbridge.


T Elliot to the Judge


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