Thomas stepped into the library and shrugged out of his vest. The garment would just hinder and constrain his movements and he did not want to damage it. "I will quickly chop some kindling," he said. He pushed up his sleeves before he returned to the hall. The ground was broken enough. What would another crack in the tiles matter? A part of him wanted to see it crack, break and crumble. The house belonged to him as much as he belonged to it. His love and hate for it were closely entwined.