"My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. “Lucy Albert. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. “Pump, pump, per-um-pump, Pum, Pump, Per-um. All this was exciting and entertaining. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Somehow. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. . ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You should have gone to Charvill.
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