She struggled to breathe, struggle to move as she trembled, spine arching, head tilting, and her vein-covered lips parted, as if draining the energy from the room. The thing which snapped her from this state were knocks on the bathroom door and a voi
"Mrs. Fiona Snark," I said, not looking up from the paper. "Miss, it's just Miss." Her sickly lemon voice sounded. I looked up, "Oh, can't imagine why." She gave a discourteous nod and breath and walked by, the length of her cape not so accidentally.