“I want a vote for myself,” she said. There was a second co-respondent. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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