"This house is full of dead people," she whispered. "If you begin to think about them—John, you're not going, are you?"
"Only to draw the curtains. Yes, here's the rain."
"And soon Notya will be on the sea," Helen said, listening to the sounds of storm.
"And I hope," Miriam added on a rich burst of laughter, "that Uncle Alfred will be sea-sick. Oh, wouldn't he look queer!" She flourished the knife. "Can't we be merry when we have the chance? Now that she's gone, why should the house still feel full of her? It isn't fair!"
"You're dripping butter on the floor," Helen said.
"Make your old toast yourself, then!"
"It's not only Notya," Helen went on, as she picked up the knife. "It's the Pinderwells and their thoughts, and the people who lived here before them. Their thoughts are in the walls and they come out when the house is quiet."
"Then let us make a noise!" Miriam cried. "Tomorrow's Saturday, and Daniel will come up. Shall we ask him to stay? It would make more live people in the house."
"If he stays, I'm not going to have Rupert in my room again. He talks in his sleep."
"It's better than snoring," Helen said.