My guests...I despise them. As libertines aspirant, they are so puerile...their taboos so tame. If only they knew where I came from. The notorious Ava Tate -- milking goats with the Old Order Mennonites, back in Quebec. Was it worse, there? With the stink, and the hypocrisy? With my father, and his God-fearing facade that vanishes...in the dark? I do not know. I have fallen so far to hurt them...to mock them. But part of me misses washing their feet.