Yes, but how tiresome you are when you’re in it.
He needed Nanda to jolly him out of it. Or mock him out of it, that usually worked as well. But she had enough troubles of her own, and a real friend would not needlessly burden her with his trials as well.
Stifling a sigh, he hauled himself out of his chair with two errands in mind. One: send a note to the inspector. They sought an unnamed woman of unknowable abode, stout and middle-aged and looking like half the rest of the women in the city. Good luck with that.
Two: finally get his dinner, if his cook hadn’t given up on him altogether. Perhaps his mood had soured because he was half starved. That was often Nanda’s theory, anyway. Perhaps that was why she was always pressing food on him: she found him a tiresome grump, too.
Meat, Mas
