"If you like," he allows, and decorously does not cluck like a hen. "In earnest, though--I know I look like a scarecrow, but I can't remember ever feeling so well. This aside," he adds, gesturing to his neck.
"Oh, I suppose I could manage, so long as you don't expect me to get through much more than some bread and soup," he says, taking the paper to read, and looks up to quirk a half-smile at him. "The Manor being, of course, the pinnacle of aesthetic utility and not overdone at all."