‘Larrie, do you want to provoke me into throwing a saucepan at your head like an Irish washerwoman?’ Dot said.
She took the lid off the potatoes and disclosed a pulpy mass boiled out of all recognition.
‘I don’t profess to be perfect; accidents will happen even to the sister Charlottes.’
‘It’s this kind of thing that drives a man from his home to seek comfort and pleasure elsewhere,’ Larrie said darkly. He really felt exceedingly ill-used, and Dot’s heated face and worried expression did not appeal to him at all.
He even steeled his heart to the little tired tremble in her voice that showed the tears were near, and all the time came the distracting sound of baby’s mournful screams that no one had time or inclination to soothe.
[p 53]
]‘You’re a bad wife, Dot,’ Larrie said, fully persuaded she was.
Dot gave a hysterical laugh.
‘All this because your food’s not ready to put in your mouth; men are as bad as animals in the Zoo when meal time is delayed!’
‘You fail in your duty in every respect, look at this kitchen, Dot, think of the dinner, listen to your child.’
But Dot, utterly tired and overwrought, burst into a passion of tears and brushed past him.