“Well! What do you know about that?” Joey Maynard lifted her eyes from the letter she had been reading and looked down the long table at her husband who had just shoved aside his empty porridge plate and was now fathoms deep in his own correspondence.
“Uh?” he grunted, his eyes fastened on a lengthy and official-looking document.
“I said, ‘What do you know about that?’,” Joey repeated sweetly.
“What is it?”
“This, of course.” She waved the letter at him with so little regard for the narrow tray holding coffee percolator, hot-milk jug and sugarbasin, that she nearly sent the milk jug flying. Len, her eldest daughter, who sat on her left hand at meals, caught the jug with a squeal of horror and steadied it just in time. Jo gave her a grateful smile and then went on unconcernedly, “This letter I’ve just had. Wake up, do! Put that thing down, Jack, and attend to me for a minute or two.”