...I'm at home, it's winter, of course I'm wearing a shirt.

[She had to cross the yard, after all. And while it's pleasantly warm in the guesthouse, she hasn't quite shaken the chill of outside yet. But she supposes it is an odd sight, for those who don't often drop by her home in cold months.]

I'll be in nothing soon enough, but at the moment I'd prefer to be warm. The curses of cold blood. Please, sit down, have some tea. It's not fit for man nor beast nor both out there.