"I take it that the question is rhetoric," Nevil said.
"Have a look at this morning's. Hullo, Aunt Lin."
"Does someone want to sue them for something? It will be sound money for us, if so. They practically always settle out of court. They have a special fund for the—" Nevil's voice died away. He had seen the front page that was staring up at him from the table.
Robert stole a look at him over the telephone, and observed with satisfaction the naked shock on his cousin's bright young features. The youth of today, he understood, considered themselves shock-proof; it was good to know that, faced with an ordinary slab of real life, they reacted like any other human being.
"Be an angel, Aunt Lin, and pack a bag for me, will you? Just for over-night…."
Nevil had torn the paper open and was now reading the story.
"Just London and back, I expect, but I'm not sure. Anyhow, just the little case; and just the minimum. Not all the things I might need, if you love me. Last time there was a bottle of digestive powder weighing nearly a pound, and when in heck did I ever need a digestive powder!… All right, then I will have ulcers…. Yes, I'll be in to lunch in about ten minutes."
"The blasted swine!" said the poet and intellectual, falling back in his need on the vernacular.
"Well, what do you make of it?"
" Make of it! Of what?"