Gloria rose unobtrusively and took the teapot to the kitchen for a refill. Her husband stood by the sink moodily drinking whiskey out of the bottle so as to avoid having to wash a glass afterward.
"Bill, you're not being polite to our guests. Why don't you go out and listen to Professor Falabella?"
"I can hear him perfectly well from here," Bill muttered--and indeed the professor's mellifluous tones pervaded every nook and cranny of the thin-walled house. "Long-winded cultist! What is he a professor of, I'd like to know."
"Professor Falabella is not a cultist!" affirmed Gloria angrily. "He's a great philosopher."
Bill Hughes said something unprintable. "If I'd married Lucy Allison," he continued unkindly, "she'd never have filled the house with long-haired cultists on my so-called day of rest."