I suppose I have some explaining to do.  Wilkins, now as vampiric as I, has decided to act upon the beast within, creating one social and strategic inconvenience after another.  To wit:

Mr. Carl Collins has brought home an animal so remarkably crass that I am astounded even he mistook it for an human.  An East London music hall “entertainer” made all the more revolting by having been met in New Jersey!  Named “Pansy Faye.”  This is a creature so insulting to all that is possible in the triumph that is humanity that she agreed to marry Carl.  Interesting, she evidenced psychic powers, helping me somewhat by naming Wilkins as the beast-at-large.  As pleasant as this was, I was still in the regrettable jam of having to host his ape-to-be lest she incur the wrath of Judith, who might have the temerity to expect Miss Faye to bathe or use dining utensils.

While I am not at all pleased to have Wilkins wantonly killing and then leaving these women in my home, we are also free of another rendition of The Only Song She Knows, so I suppose there is a cosmic balance that has been struck.



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