The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the phrase "not on purpose exactly" because Reginald knows that phrase, Reginald has USED that phrase, and it is the linguistic equivalent of hiding a dead raccoon under a porch and hoping winter takes care of it. You knew about the knob and tube. The listing agent TOLD you about the knob and tube. You then performed what The Court can only describe as a psychological shell game where you convinced yourself that an inspector delivering bad news is somehow different than you delivering bad news, as if information changes molecular structure based on who speaks it aloud. It does not. These people were picking PAINT COLORS. They had moved past beige in their minds and into something with a name like Agreeable Gray or Accessible Beige, which are different beiges but the point stands. And that text, that quiet devastation of "we feel like you should have told us" without even an exclamation point, that is the kind of thing The Court's second wife said before she left and took the Le Creuset dutch oven I had SPECIFICALLY been promised in the dissolution. Eight months of searching and you let them fall in love with a house you knew had a secret, and the secret was not even a BAD secret, it was just a KNOWN secret, and known secrets that go unspoken become lies with better posture. The Court must now adjourn because Order the Roomba has entered chambers and requires my attention for reasons I am not at liberty to discuss.