Where the hell am I? Before she could ponder the question further, the door opened again. Oleander entered, his face a study of the congenial host. �...�So glad you could join me for tea, my dear,’ he said, waving a hand at a chair. ‘Do have a seat.’ ‘I wasn’t given much choice, was I?’ she replied, sitting on the edge of the indicated chair. He clucked his tongue, looking her over thoroughly. ‘You’re not looking well,’ he said as he walked to his desk to push a button. ‘It saddens me to have to. " The hounds, Sir?" We use pure-bred Irish Wolfhounds. I believe I own more of them than anyone else in the world, by a very large margin. We need them for the sort of country we have, and the quarry is a slave, usually female." Expensive, using slaves, Sir?" Oh, we don't literally kill them, at least not often. The dogs certainly don't damage them. The 'kill' is the hunters taking their turn with the slave on a couch, sexually or with their riding crops. Of course the rules are strict; if the. More

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