“Just hand that length over, if you’ve quite done with it,” said Gypsy. “The West Frieze wants completing.”
“I’ll dust them off a bit first,” said Ginger. “What do the evils cry for?”
“Reform,” said Gypsy.
“Then let’s reform them,” said Ginger. “But we needn’t cry along with them, need we?”
“That,” said Gypsy, “would merely be piling Peleus on Ossian.” (I think I mentioned that he had got his education in Cambridge; but his classics were good enough for Ginger, who had never got her education anywhere.) “No,” he said, festooning the final sausage, “it’s no use crying over spilt evils. It’s better to mop them up laughing. How do you like that, darling?”
“The line is beautiful,” said Ginger, putting her head on one side and shutting her eye on the other. “But the colour-scheme is pasty.”
“It improves in the frying-pan,” said Gypsy. “But enough of Aesthetics. Let us return to Sociology. What evil are you going to reform?”
“Twenty seconds,” pleaded Ginger.
He took out his watch.
“Time!” called Gypsy, as Ginger called, “Got mine!”