’ she said. When I got home, Edgar Allan Poe and I had a conversation. POE: ‘You, Sir, are in the process of losing this fucking bet.’ ME: ‘I know, I know. But what am I supposed to do?’ POE: ‘Any imbecile could determine the proper course of action. You knock boots with the delectable Beth, and then turn your attention to Mrs Emily. May I suggest that you use bridge as your conversational gambit. She seems to be somewhat of a student of the game.’ ME: ‘She’s married. And if I slept with Beth, I could say goodbye to Christina.’ POE: ‘Your dark-skinned inamorata is young. She will get over it, in time. With a modicum of luck, she will have forgiven you before the expiry date of your wager with Signor Massimo.’ ME: ‘She won’t. You don’t understand: I think I’m in love with her.’ POE: ‘That is an unfortunate complication in what is otherwise a simple matter. You are familiar with the expression ‘Horns of a dilemma’?’ ME: ‘Lose the bet, or lose Christina?’ POE: ‘If not both.’ ME: ‘I am so. Doe. Please do come in." The old man beckoned John inside and closed the door behind him. "My name is Martin Woodsworth. Feel free to call me Mr. Woodsworth. I am the head butler around here. You arrived sooner than we had anticipated. Mr. Johnson is slightly preoccupied at the moment, but he shouldn't be for long." He raised his wrist to his mouth. Upon it was some sort of black wristband hidden just beneath the cuff of his suit. He pressed his thumb against the black band and spoke. "Mr. Johnson, Mr. Doe has arrived. Yes, I've already told him you won't be long. Yes, right away, sir." He released his thumb, then turned back to John. "Mr. Johnson will be right with you. I have to attend to something elsewhere, just stay here and wait patiently." Before John could say another word, Woodsworth was off through a set of double doors opposite the entrance, leaving him to his own devices in the center of the grand entrance hall of the manor. And my god, was it grand.The ceiling was at.
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