“Coming home?”—puzzled Harry.
“Coming home!”
“Why, my dear, my dear, steady on! You’re home already. Mice and mumps! Why, you came home two hours ago! Why, you—” bewildered Harry.
They carried her up to bed, feet first. She had an almost fatal mirage.
CHAPTER XI
So she gave up her job. Spent all her time with her children. Read them the dear old things, the kind that mother used to teach, “Line upon Line,” “Step by Step,” “Mother Goose,” the Rollo books.
“Mice and mumps!” cried Harry, adding “Mice and mumps!” He was so happy. But the children? “Dull,” they cried, “deadly dull. Old stuff! Mid-Victorian! Ab-so-lootly ob-so-lete! Cut it out, mother dear! Dispense with it!”
She gave it up. Went back to the office.
“After all, I am a woman.” She spoke a mouthful.