Twenty–FiveSt. John drained the wine from his glass and then, without hesitation, filled it up again. There was something soothing in the wine, even though the alcohol had not yet begun to affect him. He would need another few glasses, he guessed, just to get him through another evening of appearing as if everything was normal.
Each day, it was becoming more and more difficult to assume his usual practiced ennui. He had actually been surprised at how easy it was to revert back to his old self—and how comfortable it had felt behaving that way.
But he could not do so tonight. Tonight, it was the normal Fungy who needed to make an appearance, and St. John would have to be suppressed once more.
With a sigh and another fortifying gulp, he turned to see the clothes his valet had carefully lai
