How goes it?

You can’t/won’t answer. So let me punt a sit-rep your way.

Sentience at the Hope High Castle is grimly benign. Virulent penetration is an implausibility. One hesitates to grumble but one displays awesome agility in vaulting to defend its inevitability, in doing so spawning the image of a human centipede of self, translucent wraiths evacuating and transmogrifying into meaty opacity, assembling an altogether British continuum of caveats, a crescendoing choir of flustered apology.

I lost myself for a moment there.

One hesitates to grumble in this, this four-walled kingdom, this chapter in a book that will never be printed on paper and considered stodgy by the children futilely instructed to read it.

But security is sterile.

Adrenaline has, at best, been  ...