‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. ” “Pick you up at 4:00? My parents would like to invite you to my house for dinner.
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