"Dear me!" she said with comical gravity. "Been away long?"
"He went this morning."
She laughed outright.
"What did you have for lunch?"
"Fish."
"What sort of fish?'
"A whiting."
She sniffed.
"A cold, thin whiting with its tail in its mouth, devoid of any taste and depressing in its appearance?"
"That exactly describes it," I said laughingly.