“Your mother sounds like a very foolish woman.” A tiny bit of that protective steel enters Anthony’s voice for a moment. He continues quietly, “To be honest, I find it quite impressive that you said anything at all to her. I can’t imagine.” He scoffs softly. Perhaps Hilda Blunt knows what her son is, perhaps she doesn’t. Anthony wouldn’t know how to begin to tell her, even if he wanted to.

He carefully sips his tea. “Is it her opinion that you are still so worried about?” Anthony doubts it.