"Yeah!" Fiona retorted, not too kindly, "He sure spends a lot at our place. Compared to the Confession Room, our private rooms are much more effective for that Hesse guy. But..."
Fiona leaned back on the sofa, leisurely crossing her legs, "If your soul ends up here, I guarantee it won't be redeemed unless I take a whip to it myself. But I'm curious, just which poor soul has troubled you so much to make you wander through the fog to come babbling here. Don't tell me the riddle is right in front of me. If you keep playing mind games with me, don't expect me to help you. After all, as you said, Arthur Hastings, a mere commoner from the York countryside."
