Chapter FourteenA Room With a View
It turned out next morning that, thanks to Mr. Whittlebait’s ministrations, none of the toilets worked. There was an outdoor privy behind the garage, dating from the early years of the house, but this was a poor sort of silver lining on a day that was gray and chill with a hint of drizzle in the air.
“O Whittlebait, O Whittlebait, wherefore art thou, Whittlebait,” chanted Sybil bitterly. “How does one get hold of our leprechaun, anyway?”
“He just appears,” said Tim. “And that’s a misquotation. Juliet wasn’t wondering where Romeo was, she wondered why he was.”
“Why he was what?”
“Romeo.”
Sybil gave him an exasperated look. “Why did I have to marry a professor?” she asked the ceiling. “Why didn’t I marry a plumber?”
“Did one ever ask you?”
“Dozens,”
