He still averted his gaze as he followed her orders. He guessed some young lady in a towel wasn't much of a threat. Hopefully. "Right, okay, daughter what?" He thought about the welcome message in his strange book again. Strange message. Strange writings. Change of seasons. Suddenly he was starting to believe he wasn't influenced by a bottle of fire-whiskey.
When she was gone, he glanced over the photographs. He felt like a trespasser in his own home, but he couldn't help himself. He never did make it to the kitchen. The photographs showed such a range of fashions and hairstyles. They were definitely different time periods. "Oh, hell."