"The kitchen is not what it should be; the range causes us the greatest anxiety. The next dinner party we give we must have the dinner cooked out. Think what a trouble it will be, and how awkward it will look. Everything brought to the table lukewarm, if not quite cold."
"The thought is heartrending."
"And you so particular as you are. I am not blaming you for these things, my dear."
"You are very considerate. Is your catalogue of ills finished?"
"By no means. Look at the wine cellar--it positively reeks. As for the store cupboard, not a thing can I keep in it for the damp. Then there's the bath. Every time I turn the hot water tap I am frightened out of my life. It splutters, and chokes, and gurgles--we shall have an explosion one day. Then there's----"
"No more!" I cried, in a tragic tone. "Give me two minutes to compose myself. My nerves are shattered."
I finished my eggs and toast, I emptied my breakfast cup, I shifted my chair.
"You wish to move," I then said.
"Do you not see the impossibility of our remaining where we are?" was her reply.
"Frankly, I do not, but we will not argue; I bend my head to the storm."