I'm happily imagining a world in which old ladies, instead of playing Mah Jongg, play I Ching, and skeletons start appearing all over the place.
Quentin should have remembered that Edward thought better of Petofi than of Quentin. Quentin should not have tried to persuade Edward that he was Quentin, but instead told Edward that his current lodgings weren't working out as well as he had hoped, and could he possibly persuade Edward to let him come back to Collinwood. Then at least he'd be able to keep a closer eye on Petofi. Instead, here he is once again beating a dead horse (or vampire) trying to persuade Edward that Petofi is the bad guy, not Barnabas, and on top of that trying to persuade Edward that Petofi isn't Petofi.
How much are our identities defined by our bodies? From the day he achieved consciousness, Quentin has used his handsome body and his charming smile to get what he wants, and now he has neither, and he doesn't know any other way to manoeuvre. Or that's what I'm guessing. He just can't imagine his Quentinness not shining through any physical disguise - when his physicality has largely been what defined him.
Trask is worrying about money. What does he want the money for? Or, alternatively, how large is the Collins fortune at this point? Is it big enough for both what Trask wants and Edward wants? Or is that an irrelevant question? I suppose Trask just can't let go of anything once he has his hands on it, including Judith's money.
