'That's my quandorum too, Kenneth.'
He nods sympathetically.
'I'm sorry for you, you poor old body,' shouldering his kit. 'But I see
no way out for either of us.'
A cooing voice says, 'Do you not?'
'Are you at it again!'
She knows that it must be now or never. She has left her biggest guns
for the end. In her excitement she is rising up and down on her toes.
'Kenneth, I've heard that the thing a man on leave longs for more than
anything else is a bed with sheets, and a bath.'
'You never heard anything truer.'
'Go into that pantry, Kenneth Dowey, and lift the dresser-top, and tell
me what you see.'
He goes. There is an awful stillness. He returns, impressed.
'It's a kind of a bath!'
'You could do yourself there pretty, half at a time.'
'Me?'
'There's a woman through the wall that would be very willing to give me
a shakedown till your leave is up.'
He snorts.
'Oh, is there!'
She has not got him yet, but there is still one more gun.
'Kenneth, look!'
With these simple words she lets down the bed. She says no more; an
effect like this would be spoilt by language.
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