CLEANER II: Chapter Two - Part Two

THE ORIGINAL MELISSA

My first impulse after the former Dahlia left what had suddenly become my room was to call the room service number again and order a big steak dinner with a lavish dessert but I had resisted. It was the old me who teetered always on the brink of despair from which excessive eating provided a welcome and necessary release.

The new me was going to be strong. The new me was going to be my own creation. I didn’t aspire to be the same as the... former Dahlia. After all, she was a sorry individual really, twisted up inside and desperate for release from her own demons. I planned to design my new persona almost from scratch. Yes, I had taken her name and her money but the new me was going to be superior to the old her.

I hadn’t yet decided on the spectrum of qualities I was going to develop in this new purloined life but there was plenty of time for that. I had all the time in the world and no stinking menial job to do; no nasty husband to run me down.

I was so happy. I hadn’t been so happy in living memory.

Instead of the huge meal my weaker self wanted I chomped down the salad my... employee had had sent up. Again, it wasn’t that bad once I got into it. The feeling of virtuousness countered the lack of strong flavour.

With that done I went down to the foyer and spoke to the concierge. With a generous incentive she was more than happy to make a booking for me at another hotel on the east coast. It was a five star hotel and the room was reassuringly expensive. It was actually obscenely overpriced. Or just-enough-priced. I grinned to imagine it. I didn’t know if she was confused by my change of appearance but she didn’t question me and we would be gone in no time.

I wondered for a moment what to do about Dahli— No. Melissa now. I was Dahlia.

I wondered what to do about Dahlia’s accommodation but then the kind of thing I wanted came to me and I made a few enquiries with the concierge. Once she understood what I was after – and she did seem perplexed by it – she brightened and did a series of internet searches until she’d found something that matched what I wanted.

That made me grin even more.

I asked her to make the booking and order a taxi to take us then gave her a liberal tip, enjoying the slapdash frivolousness of throwing away the money. When I broke off I sent Melissa a text, telling her to meet me an hour later.

I spent that hour coating around the hotel, enjoying the idea that this was me now. I wasn’t my old self anymore. I was this new person; this new Dahlia. Everything seemed possible to me: the weight loss; that I could stay this way for a long time. That happiness was becoming a deep maturing contentment. I couldn’t imagine really feeling this good day after day but why wouldn’t I? As long as the new Melissa went along with her side of things then I could go on enjoying mine.

And it had been so delicious to put her in her place; tell her straight who was the boss now. That had been the best moment of my life thus far. I could imagine her trying to break this all off and me telling her no. I pictured myself standing with my arms folded while she begged to swap back, telling her not a chance; that she was the cleaner now. I was the rich woman. I imagined her hanging her head and going along with it.

I really wanted that to happen so that I could enjoy it for real.

But that would have to wait for another day. I really didn’t think she would let me bully her that far and there was no sense in rocking such a precariously balanced boat.

When the hour was up I had a porter bring my luggage downstairs. The new Melissa was already waiting with the battered old suitcase she’d inherited from me.

She looked remarkable in her banality; more distant and diminished now than she had up in the room. She’d obviously had time to think and the new identity was closing its grip around her. She looked nothing like her old self now. I didn’t think her own brother would have recognised her, though of course, he was dead.

“Hello Melissa,” I said, underscoring her new name.

Hearing it had an effect on her and colour rose to her cheeks, her eyes quivering. “Hello... Miss Western.”

“Are you ready to go?”

She nodded. “Yes miss.”

“Good.” I strode past her. The taxi was pulling up outside. “Hurry up then. I want to get there quickly and the taxi will have to drop you off at your accommodation first.”

The new Melissa stopped hurrying after me when she heard that and stared after me, her face befuddled. “My accommodation?”

“Yes,” I said. “You didn’t think you’d be staying at a posh hotel did you? That would hardly be appropriate.” 

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Nine - Part Four

Lottie jostled the Earl to the top of the servant stairs and then on down toward the kitchens.

Every step he took in this woman’s body; in this maid’s uniform; felt more real than the last – made him lose his grip on the rigid belief he’d had up to now that he was imagining all of this. The two facts couldn’t coexist in his mind: that he couldn’t have been transformed into a common serving girl but that he undeniably had.

They got to the first floor – where all the bedrooms were for him and his family – and all he wanted to do was pull free and race along there; push open his own chamber door and see that lay in there; but Lottie was relentless. She pulled him on by the hand , down two more flights of stairs until they came out in the back corridor.

“Stop,” said Howard. “Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t be dense Nellie,” replied the other maid. “We’re going to the kitchen.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Let’s hear no more of this nonsense.” Lottie dragged him round the corner and into the kitchen where the cook and butler were already present.

“What’s all that racket?” demanded Powell. “You’ll have the family up with that din!”

“Nellie’s being a royal pain,” complained Lottie. “She doesn’t want to do her chores.”

“Oh really?” Powell turned his steely glare on Howard and Howard quailed under it. All his life he had used his social position and towering physical frame to intimidate all those he met. He had seldom met a man taller than himself and never one both taller and of equal or greater rank. As a result he had dominated most everyone he had ever known, exploiting the very definition of a bully.

Now though he had no physical height; no muscle. Powell towered over him and as the sense of dreamlike quality slipped away from him – as he realised more and more that this was no phantasm; it was a painful reality – he understood better than most exactly what it meant to be a lowly maid within a hierarchy of his own design.

Powell was the butler. He was in charge of all the servants. His authority over them was absolute, second only to the members of the Neville family. If this new reality was as true as it seemed then Howard was suddenly the newest member of the serving staff, the lowest ranking indoor servant of all. He had no power whatsoever compared to this man and clearly Powell was no stranger to physical domination. It was the Earl’s decree after all. He had always demanded total obedience and efficiency from his staff and had instructed Powell on numerous occasions to use physical punishment liberally if it led to better behaviour.

“So you think you’re too good to do your tasks now, eh?” asked Powell, approaching, his greater height becoming more and more contrasting as he got closer.

Howard looked up at him and like any bully divested of his superiority became instantly filled with fear. “I... I shouldn’t be here,” he said, his timorous girlish voice undermining his confidence further. “There’s been some terrible misunderstanding.”

The butler grabbed him by the upper arms and pushed him back, almost off-balance, until he banged up painfully hard against the wall. “There is no misunderstanding my girl,” he said. “You have jobs to do and you’re going to do them. Is that clear?”

Howard stared wild-eyed up at the old man. What could he do, or say? He had to get up to his proper bedroom. He could only think that the maid had stolen his body; that he could demand she return it; but Powell pinched his arms hard. “Speak up girl!”

“Sorry,” stammered Howard, fully cowed by the domineering physicality of the man.

“What’s that?”

“I’m sorry!”

“That’s better.” Powell loosened his grip. “I’ll hear no complaints or excuses; do you understand? You’ll get your work done quickly or you’ll be out on the street.”

Howard gaped up at him, unsure what to say but knowing a response was required. He didn’t want to be a maid – couldn’t imagine a worse fate – but what choice did he have? He had to play along until he could get back to his real body; his real life. “I’m sorry sir,” he stammered. “I’ll do my duties. I shouldn’t have... I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

He hung his head, hoping Powell would back away. After a long threatening moment he did. “See that you do girl. I don’t take to fools on my staff. Get in the dining room and clean out the fireplace then build a fire ready for breakfast.”

The Earl looked in the direction of that room forlornly.

He wanted to wake up from this. It wasn’t a dream at all. It was a nightmare. But worse; it was real. He knew that now. He wasn’t sleeping; he was wide awake. He really had awoken in the body of one of his own maids and he was going to have to go on acting like he really was one until he could work out a way out of this predicament.

But how could he begin to find a solution when he had no idea what had caused the transformation in the first place?

Body Swap Humour

And for something completely different, check out this rather amusing body swap video...

CLEANER II: Chapter Two - Part One

A New World

THE ORIGINAL DAHLIA

It was like I really had changed into somebody else.

I went downstairs and left the hotel, wandering out onto the busy street and I truly felt different. The glasses, the hair, the clothes, the shoes: I looked like someone new now and I was out in front of anyone who might care to look as though this really was the new me.

Back in England, when I’d slipped down to Barton in disguise, as much as I’d wanted to pretend I’d changed, it hadn’t really felt like I had. The hair alone had ruined any illusion I could have had because the wig felt like wearing a woolly hat. This wasn’t a wig anymore, it was my real hair! I couldn't help clutching it in my fingers and smiling.

But the physical reality wasn’t the only thing, though it framed everything.

I was a model. In my day I had been a super model. Walking down a street like this a month ago would have seen every eye on me; on my long slender limbs and generous bosom, my long silky hair and my beautiful face; my extravagant tailored clothes.

Now I was anonymous. Nobody gave me a second look.

With the big frames of my glasses and the dowdy hairstyle and cheap clothes I was nobody notable at all. I was just an ordinary woman; one of the masses. The dress did nothing to hide the extra weight I’d gained already. It was embarrassing at first to be so exposed in front of all these people like this with that extra squishiness on display, but really, nobody cared. They couldn’t judge how far I’d fallen because they had nothing to compare me to, and honestly, these people had better things to care about than another bespectacled nobody shuffling along by herself.

I beamed, enjoying the anonymity and so glad now that I’d pushed through with it. I was so grateful I had had Melissa’s support. Without her I might have backed out with cold feet. She’d given me just enough of a nudge to keep going.

There was an ice-cream parlour up ahead with stools arranged around a front-facing counter. I slipped my tongue out and ran it once round to moisten my lips, grinning, and hurried across to it.

A lifetime of dieting and now there was nothing to hold me back. Nothing at all. Quite the opposite. For my fantasy to come true I really had to go out of my way to eat now.

I ordered a tub of ice-cream containing four generous scoops; a variety of flavours. I had chocolate chip and a delicious version of strawberry that actually contained whole real strawberries. With them I had caramel supreme and mint chocolate and over the top I added raspberry and chocolate sauce and hundreds and thousands, plus a sprinkling of nuts.

I tucked in greedily, chomping down the tub quickly and already eying the other flavours I hadn’t tried.

To put on weight intentionally. To get fatter on purpose. That was the plan now. To get fatter and fatter and fatter and fatter and let myself really become Melissa.

I’d already taken on her name. I’d given over all my money.

I grinned to think of her playing along; insisting that I have no control over where we were going to go next. It was so delightfully perfect. I couldn’t have imagined it better myself.

I finished off my ice-cream, toyed with having some more, then instead, continued down the shopping street. There were loads and loads of touristy shops and though much of it was gaudy tat, there were a few items that caught my eye. I considered going in and trying some things on but even as I got as far as the shop threshold I remembered about the exchange of handbags and I realised that I had to be careful now. I no longer had unlimited funds. I couldn’t just buy anything I wanted. Not anymore. I was an ordinary woman now on a cleaner’s salary and with my developing appetite I was going to need what cash I had to keep myself in food.

I checked my purse and deliberated, squinting at the item I'd seen: a brightly coloured summer dress. It was very pretty but I remembered who I was now. I glanced down at the clothes I was already wearing. Something like that wouldn’t suit me.

Not anymore.

And if I bought that then I wouldn’t be able to...

I looked back at the ice-cream store. There had been so many wonderful flavours there.

I took one last look at the summer dress then turned my back on it and walked back toward the thing I really wanted.

As I approached it again I heard a bleep from my handbag and, curious, fished out Melissa’s phone. My phone now.

It was inexpensive and of limited use; several years older than the phone I'd handed over in its place. There was a text and when I worked out how to bring it up I saw that it was from Melissa. From Dahlia.

Melissa, it read. Seeing that name gave me a shiver. Have organised accommodation and transport. We’ll be leaving in one hour. Meet in reception then. Dahlia.

I smiled, reading it a second time. She had been quick off the mark and done exactly as she said she would. I couldn’t wait to see where we were going. It made me nervous that she had control now but that surrender was part of the allure and my loins were sparking from the titillation.

I closed up the mobile and put it away, checked my watch then strode the rest of the way to the ice-cream store. I had more than enough time for a few more scoops.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Nine - Part Three

Sorry. No Cleaner today. No time to write!

It was Burt getting up that woke Ann from her sleep in her little bare wooden room above the inn. She groaned and he glanced back at her as he put his shirt on.

“Oh, sorry luv,” he said. “I didn’t mean t’wake ye. I ave to get oop t’t’hall to get workin or Arry’ll gimme an earful.”

It took a moment for Ann to get her bearings, then she remembered where she was; and who she was. Her heart sank through the bed. Still the penniless innkeeper’s daughter with no prospects to speak of. She hated every aspect of her new life… except one.

“Do ye ave to go?” she asked plaintively, her voice nasal and abrasive. Hearing it made her feel even more down. The clodhopper accent was settling in even further now and it had come unbidden without her even needing to consider it. How quickly and how low she had fallen.

“Aye,” replied Burt. “Unless I wants a balling out from old Harry.” He paused though and considered. “I’ve probably got time for a quick suck though if you wants to give me one.” He grinned, presenting his crotch, and Ann looked at the slowly rising penis proudly on display.

Her face fell… but there was something… tempting about it.

Burt could see her indecision so he grinned, oscillating his pelvis so that his cock waggled from side to side. “Come on luv,” he said. “You’ll miss yer chance if you ain’t quick.”

Ann grinned and clambered off the bed onto the floor at his feet, grabbing his hairy calf with one hand and the shaft of his cock with the other. She was still smiling in anticipation but as she went to close her mouth around it she looked up at Burt’s face, his body in extreme perspective. He was looking fondly down at her which made her feel warm and happy but the reek of horse dung and sweat was hovering about him. His clothes were filthy and he hadn’t washed since the night before. Her own juices had dried crustily onto his penis.

For a second she had been caught in the spirit of sexual adventure but now the dirty reality of this most sordid activity was brought home to her. Now she saw herself from the outside as a working class slut about to pleasure her working class man before he set off to his labouring job.

The reality that this was the highlight of her new life struck her between the eyes. This unclean act of debauchery was literally the best thing going for her now amid a life of poverty and hard work.

“Well come on then Mavis,” said Burt. “Put it in. Show us what yer made of.” He chuckled.

Ann looked at the end of the pulsing fleshy thing and asked herself if she had a choice. She could say no but what then? Burt would leave her alone and for a few hours she’d lie here feeling lonely, probably wishing she’d gone through with it.

The real Mavis had taken her body hundreds of miles away to the south. Surely she should be planning how to get down there and force a trade back, but it seemed an impossible task and she was sure that Hattie still had the pendant anyway.

“I’m gonna have ta go,” said Burt. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Wait,” said Ann.

He stopped and revolved back to face her, his cock swinging into the space in front of her face.

Ann looked up at him soulfully. “Tell me you like me Burt,” she said.

He smiled. “Course I bloody do.”

“Tell me you’ll look after me.”

He crackled a grin, his eyes filled with warmth. “I’ll look after you always.”

Ann felt a heat relight in her chest; a glimmer of contentment amid terrible stress.

“Of course I will,” he said. “You’re my girl, Mavis.”

The smile fell away from Ann’s mouth and she looked again at Burt’s cock.

That’s who I am now, she thought to herself. I’m Mavis. Burt’s lass. Nothing more than that.

She took the end of his penis into her mouth, distorting her lips in a circle around it and sucking the end, playing with the sensitive end under her tongue.

“Oh yes luv. Yes, I like that.”

A tear came to each of Ann’s eyes but she shut them tightly, raising her hands to stimulate Burt’s scrotum and tickle his thigh.

“Oooh yes luv. Yes. You can do that whenever you like.”

And Ann took to it with greater enthusiasm, enjoying the compliment and feeling that in this way at least she could still be a special person. She worked Burt’s cock hard, scratching the back of his legs and his buttocks and working down the flank of his organ to lick at his ball sack as he moaned in increasing pleasure. She tried to build him up, eager to have him cum; desperate to taste his seed; but she could sense his tension; his fear of being late.

Ignoring that, Ann worked harder ,doing her best to debase herself before this peasant; to do everything in her power to stimulate him; but eventually and reluctantly, Burt had to pull away.

“I’m sorry luv; really; but I got to go or I’ll lose me job.”

He pulled his cock from her mouth and Ann moved after it, keeping hold of it in her lips for as long as she could. She looked after it longingly as Burt put his trousers and boots on, wishing she could do it again.

She just wanted to feel loved… and needed. She wanted that more than everything.

She’d thrown away a promising marriage to a prosperous titled gentleman for this and she was desperate to cling onto some tiny glimmer of happiness within the terrible scourge of her life.

But Burt was going to the door. He was leaving.

He winked and waved goodbye before he disappeared, but Ann went on kneeling there naked, wishing only that he would come back and she could go on pleasuring him until he came in her mouth.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Nine - Part Two

Howard Neville had never counted himself a timid man, nor a man who found himself wrong-footed, but when Lottie pulled him up off the bed and started helping him dress he found it impossible to react apart from following the instructions he was given.

This was still a dream. That was the only reasonable explanation. It simply wasn’t possible to go to sleep in his own bed; in his own body; and wake up in somebody else’s – a slip of a girl no less and one of his own domestic servants! It couldn’t really be happening.

“I’ll not ave the butler tell me what for fer letting you fall behind my girl,” said Lottie, pulling the nightie up over Howard’s head. “It’s a reflection on me and I ain’t gonna let you get me in trouble. Are you listening?”

Howard stared at her, thunderstruck by the entire situation. “Uh, yes,” he said timidly.

“Well good,” replied Lottie. “You and me ave a responsibility to work ‘ard and if we don’t then we’ll be for the high jump quick enough and no mistake.” She pulled the black maid’s dress over Howard’s head and he dumbly followed his instructions to put his arms through the sleeves.

He was so far outside his experience now; knocked so far onto his back foot; that he couldn’t manage to summon his usual bluster. And it was a dream after all. He couldn’t really fight against it; strange though it was. Whatever was going to happen would happen. That was how it was in dreams.

Lottie started fiddling with his hair, brushing it roughly and painfully while all he could do was look down at himself; at the skinny arms and little hands; the black dress falling to the floor. He looked at Lottie but she seemed indifferent to him, seeing nothing odd in the way he looked, like he really was just a maid.

“This is going to slow us down down,” she said. “I just hope we don’t get in trouble for it. It’ll be your fault if we do. You may only be eventeen but you should know ‘ow to do your own hair by now. I’m not going to help you every day.”

Seventeen?

It couldn’t be.

Lottie finished tying Howard’s hair into a tight bun then attached the maid’s cap and handed him his white apron. “Here y’are then and be quick about it.” She hurried back round to the side of the bed to finish getting ready herself.

Howard inspected the apron in his unfamiliar hands, fully aware of how he would look if he put it on; what he would become; but he didn’t know what else to do. He had no idea the drug was in his system still and the doziness it wrought left him feeling a little confused; helped him to believe this really was just a dream

“Hurry up Nellie!” urged Lottie and Howard found himself putting the apron on over his head as though he had no other choice and tying up the straps at the back.

It was only a dream. He told himself that. And though he had no idea why he would dream about such a thing, it only seemed right to play along with it.

“Put your shoes on. Hurry.”

Howard saw the shoes she meant at the side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. He didn’t put them on right away; he was mesmerised again by his slim wrists; his dainty fingers.

“Nellie! Quickly!”

“Yes. Sorry,” he stammered, hurrying to put on the women’s shoes and tie them up. He stood up and saw the small mirror on top of a chest of drawers by the window. He went closer, afraid to look; afraid that this wasn’t a dream. It seemed too real and it was going on for far too long.

He stepped level with the glass and the face he wore looked back at him from it.

He was a woman. He was a maid. There could be no mistake. And it was as he feared. It was the face of the new maid who had just started; this Nellie... Barrow. It wasn’t a beautiful face but nor was it ugly. It was just ordinary; unattractive if anything. The mirror girl’s mouth hung slightly open, dull-looking eyes flicking up and down. She was unremarkable and most definitely nothing but a maid.

Howard raised his hand to touch his face and as the girl did the same he got a shudder of anxiety as the realism chipped away at his belief that it wasn’t really happening. It was far too realistic. It had to be real. But how could it be? How could he wake up in the body of one of his own servants? It was against God. It was an abomination.

Behind him Lottie was almost ready but she was looking harried. “Right then Nellie,” she said. “We’d best be getting downstairs and getting to work. Come on.”

“But...”

“What?” Lottie stopped at the door and looked back testily.

“This isn’t right,” said Howard. “I’m not meant to be here. I’m not a maid.”

“Yes you ruddy well are,” said Lottie, coming across and grabbing his wrist painfully tightly, jolting him along with her. “You’re coming with me and I won’t hear nothing against it!” She was taller than Howard was now and he could do little to resist, especially in his current state of mind.

“But this isn’t right,” said Howard. “I’m meant to be downstairs. I shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” said Lottie. “You’ve got jobs needing doing and you’d better get on with it or there’ll be hell to pay!”

CLEANER II: Chapter One - Part Twelve

THE ORIGINAL MELISSA

Saying who I was now was like the words of a spell, turning reality around and blurring what had been true minutes before.

I knew it wasn’t real but it felt like I truly had become someone else, from the absence of the weighty omnipresent glasses to the feel of the different fabric gracing my form, to my curly blond hair and even the wildly different environment we were now in: the heat and the ostentation of the hotel room. Every single thing I was seeing and feeling was different from my old life and nothing more so than this woman before me who had just identified herself using my… my former name.

Melissa.

She wasn’t Dahlia anymore. She just wasn’t. With her dark bobbed hair and glasses, her cheap and curiously quaint outfit and her slightly overripe features and silhouette, she was as far from being a super model it was possible to get.

I felt fabulous, and it didn’t matter that I wasn’t in any way a duplicate for the former Dahlia. I was still someone better than I had been and maybe… just maybe… I could lose all this weight and really… It didn’t bear thinking about too thoroughly. It was a fantasy that couldn’t really come true. But what did it matter? This numpty had just handed me her purse strings and her identity. I wasn’t a super model but I sure as shit was suddenly rich! I couldn’t wait to go out and start throwing it around!

“Well,” said this new mousy Melissa, as she crossed to the window and absently looked down at the street. “The next thing to do is to decide what the next move is – which hotel we’re going to move to and how to work out the plan for the first month or so.” She started to turn back to face me. “I think we should—”

I cleared my throat, cutting her off. “Actually Melissa,” I said, pausing to allow that use of her new name sink in, “it’ll be me who makes those decisions from now on. I am your employer after all. Aren’t I?”

The new Melissa lowered her gaze, her face colouring. “Uh yes. That’s right.”

I grinned broadly, hoping she wouldn’t notice but not much caring. She was such an idiot she’d no doubt interpret any humour on my part as being good-natured. “I was kind enough to bring you abroad with me to act as my… assistant… but that doesn’t mean you can start throwing your weight around and thinking you can tell me what to do.”

She met my gaze and smiled a secret comradely smile. “Yes. You’re quite right Dahlia. That was rude of me. Obviously you are in charge of what happens. I’ll leave the decisions to you.” She was playing along, obviously enjoying the game of it. The way she spoke wasn’t quite normal; it was exaggerated and frisky. It made me wonder if she’d really let this go on long enough for that playfulness to disappear; for the difference in our statuses to stop being a game and simply be the established dynamic between us. I ached for that to happen and thinking about that now made the fizzing that had been building in my nether regions increase in intensity.

The fact this was turning me on made my own cheeks colour. That was plain weird.

“You can do your own thing for an hour or two,” I said to her, getting into the swing of this but noticing that my own voice, as yet, was equally staged, “but we’ll be moving on this afternoon after I’ve made a decision.”

“Yes Miss Western,” she said. I smiled at the use of my new name.

She went to leave the room but I stopped her. “Before you go, tidy up in here would you,” I said.

The new Melissa stopped short, a little put out, but I kept my eyes on her and she nodded. “Yes miss.”

She got to work, straightening the cases and ensuring everything was in order and I watched her, enjoying myself greatly. She went to leave again, taking up my former handbag.

“Oh, and order me a salad from room service,” I said.

“Yes. Of course.” She backtracked again and went to the phone, dialling reception. She made the request, eyeing me tentatively as she did, requesting it me sent up to “Dahlia Western’s” room, and I realised that the room had become mine because the name had.

It was a good job we were moving on today as the changes in our appearances and names would raise eyebrows with the staff here. I couldn’t wait to start off somewhere new, where our identities as they now stood would be set from the start. Everyone there would know me as Dahlia Western and her as my employee, Melissa.

It was too delightful for words. And too hilarious.

I thanked “Melissa” for ordering the food then said, “You can go now.”

A crackle of electricity passed between us; of further shifting statuses and a setting of this new status quo, and then she went to the door finally and left without another word.