"Bertie, come here at once!" came the screeching cry of the nighthawk otherwise known as my Aunt Agatha. I reluctantly crawled out from behind the aspidistra.
"Have you been crying?" she asked incredulously. I wiped the back of my hand against my cheeks and looked up defiantly at her.
"No."
"What nonsense. What would your father say if he saw you crying?" she scolded.
"Well, he can't now, can he? He's dead." I said with much more vehemence than I was accustomed to. I stormed out of the main hall and up the stairs to escape her.