“Yes, I have.”
“Who?”
“That Sales fellow.”
Her eyelids quivered, but she said boldly, “Because of me?”
“No, of course not. Making noises at concerts. Shooting birds. I’ve told you so before.”
“He’s been to Canada.”
“I know.”
“But he has come back.”
“Well, I suppose he had to come back some day.”
“And I hate Aunt Rose.”