Long Bath Hours

Lately, Maynard has made a habit of bathing during his break. I don't mind so much — I prefer him smelling of rosewater and candlewax to his usual grime and gruff. But he takes HOURS in there, leaving me alone to herd the poor sods in the cells! He thinks he's such a sly fox, too — as if I don't see the book he hides under his towel whenever he sets off. I don't care what smut he reads, but can't he hurry with it?