“All drowned?” asked Miss Holland suspiciously.
“Mm, poor things.”
“I fear I do not share your solicitude,” chuckled Miss Holland.
“Well, perhaps I associate them with summer. In a London summer there are always one or two, having their little day. I’ve tried once or twice to keep still and endure.”
“I shake my nightgown out of the window, but always feel mean.”
“You are most tender-hearted.”
“I agree with the Frenchman, ‘ce n’est point la piqûre dont je me plains, c’est le promenade.’”
“You speak French delightfully, toote ah fay kom oon Parisienne.”
“Imitation; I can imitate any sound. But where do all these fleas come from?”