“I don’t care,” she said slowly; “I won’t take more than my share. What
shall we do about the house?”
“Well, if you don’t mind,” said Giles, “you’d better stay on. It’ll save
a lot of trouble. If you don’t—I can’t very well live here, and the
house’ld be going spare. That means we’ld have to let, which’ld send us
both mad. The rooms’ld have to be done up, we should be done down, our
effects would be done in and our finer feelings would be outraged. The
idea of some sticky stranger wallowing in our private bathroom sends the
blood to my head.”
Mrs. Festival shuddered.