"Pity. Pity. Damned shame," she muttered.
I was partially relieved from my uneasiness by the appearance of George Thario, who bounded in, waved lightly at his sisters and kissed his mother just below her hairline. "My respectful duty, Mama," he greeted.
"Damned hypocrisy. You did your duty youd be in the army."
"Bloodpressure," warned Constance.
"Have they made you thoroughly miserable, Mr Weener? Don't mind them—there's something wrong with all the Tharios except the Old Man. Blood gone thin from too much intermarriage."
"Just like incest," exclaimed Winifred. "Don't you think incest's fascinating, Mr Weener? Eugene O'Neill and all that sort of thing?"
"Morbid," objected Constance.
"Damned nonsense," grunted Mama.
"Cream or lemon, Mr Weener?" inquired Constance. Mama, moved by a hospitable reflex, filled a grudging cup.
"Cream, please," I requested.