“She might have said a good deal.”
The ancient chuckled.
“ ‘Granfer,’ she says, ‘a man o’ your gert age ought to go to bed wi’ a candlestick.’ ”
Cicely threw back her head and laughed. Tiddy wanted more detail.
“And what did you reply to that, Mr. Burble?”
“Ah-h-h! I was too flambergasted, miss, for common speech, but a very notable answer blowed into my yed just one fornit arter. I can’t go to bed wi’ a candlestick, acause I ain’t got none, nary one.”
He hobbled on, still chuckling.
“They’re quite wonderful,” said Tiddy. “Prehistoric. How long will it last?”
Cicely frowned, anticipating criticism.
“I suppose you would like to see everything cut to pattern, with the colour out of the pattern, a drab monotony of millions doing and saying the same thing; no distinctions, no differences—ugh?”