'How can you eat that sawdust, Father?' she inquired, beginning on eggs and bacon and speaking cheerfully because it was a fine morning and only ten minutes past nine; and somehow, at the beginning of every new day, there was always a chance that this one might be different from all the rest. Something might happen; and then everything would be jollier all round.Madge did not see clearly into her feelings; she only knew that she always felt cheerier at breakfast than at tea.
'What time did you say Viola's train gets in?' Tina asked her mother; she sometimes found the Wither silences unendurable.'Half-past twelve, dear.''Just in nice time for lunch.''Yes.''You know perfectly well that Viola's train gets in at half-past twelve,' intoned Mr Wither slowly, raising his eyelids to look at Tina, 'so why ask your mother? You talk for the sake of talking, it's a silly habit.' He slowly looked down again at his little bowl of mushy cereal.'I'd forgotten,' said Tina. She continued vivaciously, at the silence. 'Don't you loathe getting to a place before twelve o'clock, Madge – too late for breakfast and too early for lunch?'
Nightingale Wood (1938)