“Perhaps it may not be the rector’s affair.”
“Whose else could it be?”
“The lord of the manor.”
“Impossible.”
“Butter, Dolly?”
“Thank you, Evie dear. Charles—”
“Yes, dear?”
“I didn’t know one could pollard elms. I thought one only pollarded willows.”
“Oh no, one can pollard elms.”
“Then why oughtn’t the elms in the churchyard to be pollarded?”