"You're Mister Jenkins?" I asked, extending my hand.He shook it. "And you're Alan Addison. And this is..." he asked, looking at Tina."This is Tina, uh... Miss Christina Johnson. She's needing to be in school." Hello, Miss Tina," he said. "You folks can sit down."We sat."So what's the deal? You're her, uh ... relation?" None," I said. "She's, well, I don't know how to categorize..."His eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly."No," I said. "Not like that. Like "foster home"." Sir," Tina interrupted, "I. “Sir Valentine has eyes on’y for young Izote,” the fat old cook admits, frightened by Ferdinando’s face, that reminds her of an over-broiled blood pudding, “not, Miss Durnley. An’ I ‘as no cut with Mary, she leaves me ter me kitchen, what suits I. If thee’s askin’ me, if’n that Valentine was goin’ ter murder that sweet boy, young Benjy fforde, an’ teke the girl fer hisself, I ask I-self else why camp on the green, when he ‘ad ‘is own ‘ouse an’ promise o’ ‘ot food ‘n’ a cumfty soft bed but a few. More

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