"I wish you would not sit and addle your brains over those books. Blessed if I don't burn them all! What good do they do? Why don't you talk?"
"I've nothing particular to say."
"You never have anything to say when you've been reading. Now if I read a bit of the newspaper, I've always something to talk about."
She was silent, and her husband continued his tune.
"Miriam, my dear, you aren't well. Are you in pain?"
Mr. Farrow never understood any suffering unless it was an ache of some bind.
"Let me get you just a drop of brandy with some ginger in it."
"No, thank you."
"Yes, you will have just a drop," and he jumped up at once and went to the cupboard.
"I tell you I will not."