Mr. Handy wrote:
"Poor Violette is as well as can be expected. She no longer suffers from fits of violence and melancholy, and even seems reasonably happy. However, she has succumbed to the delusion that she is a French aristocrat of the male sex. She insists on wearing men's clothing. I am afraid that she will have to be confined for the rest of her natural life, and I have taken measures to ensure that she is as comfortable as possible.
"As for myself, I must confess that I suffer from bad dreams and restless sleep. Each night I seem to hear the voices of women, but I cannot understand their words. In my dreams I see a pair of shadowy figures, their arms extended as if they are pleading with me. As I am entirely unskilled in oneiromancy, I am unable to discover what these visions may portend. In an attempt to come to terms with this phenomenon, I have composed a sonnet based on my experiences."
Servants of Morpheus, why come thou now
In guise of mortal flesh, to haunt my nights
With images of woe and gloom? I vow
To understand thy nightly, dreary flights
Into my brain. O Furies, spare my sleep!
Why wear these masks of beauty, sweet and fair,
Then moan to me, as if from durance deep
And dark thou howl for freedom? From what lair
Of Hades must I rescue thee? What shades
Or spirits are thou? Ghosts or demons, speak!
Before the ebon curtain of night fades
And daylight steals thee away I seek
To know thy purpose. Will I never rest
Within the arms of Nyx, where all are blest?
"Enough of my worries. I trust you are all well? And how is Mister Harcourt? Has he recovered from his affliction?"
At this, the maid of all work, who has been attending to the needs of the guests, raises her eyebrows.