Dirt smudges free, and the hound's sloppy maw looks a little nearer a grin. Less a hunting scene than the ragged gambol of play. Somewhere upstairs, in a disused room, is a portrait of a girl and shaggy puppy.

"We got the mirror for it," He's nudging the broom up to tap at a chandelier. A little shower of dust rains to his shoulder. Turning to cough, "Wouldn't need cover, neither."