"Broadmoor!"
"Criminal lunacy."
"I find it extraordinarily stimulating," Robert said, refusing to be bullied by her.
This drew a flash of appreciation from her; something that was like the shadow of a smile. Robert had the odd feeling that she suddenly liked him; but if so she was making no verbal confession of it. Her dry voice said tartly: "Yes, I expect the distractions of Milford are scarce and mild. My daughter pursues a piece of gutta-percha round the golf course—"
"It is not gutta-percha any more, Mother," her daughter put in.
"But at my age Milford does not provide even that distraction. I am reduced to pouring weedkiller on weeds-a legitimate form of sadism on a par with drowning fleas. Do you drown your fleas, Mr. Blair?"
"No, I squash them. But I have a sister who used to pursue them with a cake of soap."
"Soap?" said Mrs. Sharpe, with genuine interest.
"I understand that she hit them with the soft side and they stuck to it."
"How very interesting. A technique I have not met before. I must try that next time."