—just because your torture reaches a point when it becomes unbearable?”
“I have never sworn or desired to swear, Miss Oliver dear, but I will admit,” said Susan, with the air of one determined to make a clean breast of it once for all, “that I have experienced occasions when it was a relief to do considerable banging.”
“Don't you think that is a kind of swearing, Susan? What is the difference between slamming a door viciously and saying d—”
“Miss Oliver dear,” interrupted Susan, desperately determined to save Gertrude from herself, if human power could do it, “you are all tired out and unstrung—and no wonder, teaching those obstreperous youngsters all day and coming home to bad war news. But just you go upstairs and lie down and I will bring you up a cup of hot tea and a bite of toast and very soon you will not want to slam doors or swear.”
“Susan, you’re a good soul—a very pearl of Susans! But, Susan, it would be such a relief—to say just one soft, low, little tiny d—”
“I will bring you a hot water bottle for the soles of your feet, also,” interposed Susan resolutely, “and it would not be any relief to say that word you are think- ing of, Miss Oliver, and that you may tie to.”
“Well, I'll try the hot water bottle first,” said Miss Oliver, repenting herself of teasing Susan and vanishing upstairs, to Susan’s intense relief. Susan shook her head ominously as she filled the hot water bottle. The war was certainly relaxing the standards of behaviour woefully. Here was Miss Oliver admittedly on the point of profanity.
