“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but whatever it is, I’m sure you’re quite wrong.”
So here’s something you don’t want to see on your doorstep first thing in the morning — Burke Devlin, all self-righteous and shouty. He gets right up in Willie’s face and says, “I have to see Mr. Collins.”
Willie says that Barnabas isn’t home; he left early this morning and didn’t say where he was going.
Burke shouts, “You’re lying! I saw him come into this house before sunrise this morning, and he never came out.”
Stunned, Willie says, “You’ve been spying on him?”
“Well, I’ve been watching him,” Burke says, splitting hairs.
Willie asks the obvious question. “Why?”
“Because I find Mr. Collins a very odd person,” Burke says, “and the same goes for you.”
So there you go — any last shred of sympathy that we might have had for Burke, tossed away in a weird moment of spiteful bitchery. As a general rule, if you’ve been standing outside behind a tree all night, waiting for a guy to come home, then you lose any right to call other people odd. It doesn’t matter if the guy you’re spying on turns out to be a vampire. You are part of the problem.