"That is not what happens when you die, Stiffy Byng and you know it!" I yelled at her. Angela and I had been out collecting more flowers for Mother when that insufferable blot had accosted me and began spouting the most unreliable twat I'd ever heard. Girls!
"Well, that's why Uncle Watkyn told me when my parents died. Anyway, Bertie, I don't see why you're so upset. It isn't like it's anything horrible." she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"They do not come and whisper stories in one's ear at night. That's just not on." I reiterated. Stiffy rolled her eyes.
"Very well, Bertie. Come on, Madeline." I glowered at the both of them, Stiffy and Madeline, as they walked back to the house.
In retaliation for the anger I felt I pulled the stems of two daises with rather more force than was called for.