"Get me a drink!"
"All right! I'll get it for you!"
"Let me think! There's none in the house ... none left, Emily said."
"But I brought some with me ... wait a minute." I went into the kitchen, turned on the tap softly, filled a glass half full of water, brought it back to him.
"Here it is."
"I don't like the colour of it."
"Why, it has a nice, rich colour."
"What is it?—Scotch?"
"Yes."
He sipped of it. Made a rueful face. "I don't like the taste of it ... it tastes too much like water," he commented, with a quiet, grave, matter-of-fact grimace that set me laughing, in spite of myself....