Aslan glanced to Miss Griffin. She was poor, then. Poor, and still able to have a respectable career.

Mostly he worked with the Tullys, the Ernests, the Longbottoms of the world: worldly men and women who may well have sprung from the dirt itself. Men and women who were worked from the mud instead of fallen in it.

Law-breaking men and women that he conformed more and more to every day.

“I could--” he started to volunteer, though stopped as soon as Dr. Witaker spoke.

That was a relief, at least. He closed the door behind them, and settled with his hands clasped in front of him beside it. Quietly, he watched.