[…] Easter Sunday, for all its traditions, is a gladless day in London. There is positively nothing to do.

‘Ma'am,’ cried Mr Sheridan, turning to me abruptly, ‘you should send and order him not, – it is a take in, and ought to be forbid […].’

ameliorative inquiry

I fill him in about Billy and Deeta, about my parents and their 'undivorce'.