"It's rather sad, really, the way one never appreciates a person till he's dead," she said. "Oh, I do think it was truly adroit of him, don't you, Ermyntrude darling? Do you suppose it had anything to do with his being murdered?"
"Even if it were true, why should it have?" asked Hugh.
"Oh, I don't know, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if we discovered it was all part of some colossal plot, and wholly tortuous and incredible."
"Then the sooner you get rid of that idea the better!"
She looked at him through the sweep of her lashes. "Fusty!" she said gently.
Hugh was annoyed. "I'm not in the least fusty, but.."
"And dusty, and rolled up with those disgusting mothballs."
"Ducky, don't be rude!" said Ermyntrude, quite shocked.
"Well, he reminds me of greenfly, and blight, and frost in May, and old clothes, and '
"Anything else?" inquired Hugh, with an edge to his voice.