It was after the second air-raid upon London that he decided
to take a house in the country.... Less than a year ago he had disposed
of his music-halls and had settled near Bilberry for good.
"By the way," said Daphne, "did I tell you? The laundry's struck."
"Thank you," said her husband, "for that phrase."
"Don't mention it," said my sister. "But I thought you'd like to know.
Heaven knows when they'll go back, so I should go easy with your stiff
collars and shirts."
"What, have the saws stopped working?" said Berry. "I can't bear it."
"What about my trousers?" said I. "I've only one clean pair left."
Daphne shrugged her white shoulders.
"What about my tablecloths?" she replied.
Berry addressed himself to Adele.
"We live in pleasant times, do not we? Almost a golden age. I wonder
what the trouble is now. Probably some absent-minded _blanchisseuse_ has
gone and ironed twenty socks in ten minutes instead of ten socks in
twenty minutes, without thinking. And the management refuse to sack her
for this grievous lapse into the slough of pre-War Industry, out of
which a provident Trade Union has blackmailed her to climb."
"I've no doubt you're right," said I. "The question is, where are we
going to end? It's the same everywhere.
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