[There's a blond man she's never seen before, by the steps to the cottage -- it looks like he's industriously using a broom to brush snow off the steps, though judging by the way he's carefully not looking the way of where the garden is newly crowded and getting rowdier by the minute...

(Well, Andrew isn't contributing too much to the rowdiness, but that's neither here nor there.)

It might be a pretext. He's wearing a double layer of what looks like a bedsheet over an old, decrepit and dirty cloak that looks terrible even just with its ripped ends trailing.]

If you try to sleep outside, it'll be a longer nap than you planned.

[Just saying that neutrally after his observations.]