"For the last time," said Jonah, "I appeal to you all to let that dog-eared mountebank rake over his muck-heap, and attend to me."
My brother-in-law addressed Adèle.
"It is," he said, "a discreditable but incontrovertible fact that saints have always been reviled. I suppose it's jealousy." He turned to his wife. "By the way, did you pack my aureola? I left it hanging on the towel-rail."
"If," said Daphne, "you're referring to your body-belt, it's with your bed-socks."
"And why not between your flannel vests?" said her husband. "The grey ones we found at Margate, I mean. With the imitation bone buttons. Ah, here we are. Now, if half a franc's no earthly, what'll who give me for two-thirds of fifty centimes?"
Jonah sank into a chair and closed his eyes.
"Look here," said I desperately. "Once for all, are we going to stay at Bordeaux, or are we going right through?"
"I think we'd all rather go right through," said Jill.
"I know I would," said her brother. "And if Boy's leg was all right, I shouldn't hesitate. I'll answer for Ping. But, frankly, with Berry driving, I doubt if Pong'll fetch up. I mean, two hundred and twenty-two miles takes some biting off."
There was a pregnant silence. Then—