They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. She had heard the trader utter it many times. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. They fell in a diapason of smashes. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said.
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