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Chapter Three – Taking the Reins
The following morning, with, thankfully, a little heat exuding from the radiators, once more my Master and I share breakfast. A knock. “Mrs Haswell?” “Come in, Ross.” He enters, hand outstretched, offering me a thick wedge of envelopes. “Good morning, Mr Haswell. Mrs Haswell, the post.” My Master looks up from his newspaper, brow c****d. I riffle through a mix of white and brown envelopes, coupons, catalogues and other junk mail. “That’s everything, is it?” “It’s everything I took from the mailbox.” “And this is about typical?” “I’d say so, yes.” Ross hovers. “Is there anything else?” “No, that’s fine. You go do…” I wave a vague hand… “… whatever it is you should be doing.” As the door closes behind him, I split the collection into junk, a stack of my own mail, and another for my
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