LADY UTTERWORD. I said Hastings said it; and he is not in the least a numskull.
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. What's wrong with my house?
LADY UTTERWORD. Just what is wrong with a ship, papa. Wasn't it clever of Hastings to see that?
CAPTAIN SHOTOVER. The man's a fool. There's nothing wrong with a ship.
LADY UTTERWORD. Yes, there is.
MRS HUSHABYE. But what is it? Don't be aggravating, Addy.
LADY UTTERWORD. Guess.
HECTOR. Demons. Daughters of the witch of Zanzibar. Demons.
LADY UTTERWORD. Not a bit. I assure you, all this house needs to make it a sensible, healthy, pleasant house, with good appetites and sound sleep in it, is horses.
MRS HUSHABYE. Horses! What rubbish!