” Mike knocked on the thin core door that sealed her and Shari’s bedroom from the outside world. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Well, I'll be getting this tub under way. And don't neglect my instructions this time. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Oh, John. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes.
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