"Don’t speak to Mama unless you’re spoken to, if you value your hide, boy," Crawley says in a loud whisper. He sneers. "And be sure to call her ‘grandmother.’ She likes that. If you call her anything else, she’s likely to have you flayed alive. Not that I would mind the entertainment ... call it dinner theatre." I shudder at the idea of what Crawley and his pack would consider entertaining, or dinner.