The hour is late, and you lie awake.
Perhaps if you were fully grown, Father would have invited you to join the men in the library for cigars and port. And then colloquies (and colloquies and colloquies) on the means to greater wealth, followed by a rousing game of Tiddledy-Winks. Traces of laughter meander through your bedroom walls, and you bury your ears in your pillow. You can only be thankful you have more growing to do.
What's this? A tiny woman no larger than your hand alights on your chest. "Young sir. Young sir, you must wake up," she says, hushed but hurried.
"Go away," you say, rolling onto your side.
But the woman is undeterred. Holding her parasol over her head, she is lifted into the air and over your ear. "Young sir, I insist you wake up at once. There is a matter most urgent!" A bold woman, she risks a raised voice.
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