 Now, now, listen. You remember when Violet was taken ill in Paris? Yes, dear. Marmalade, Simon. Well, I'll go on from there. Adieu, dear. Paris in spring, with the Champs-Élysées alive and dancing in the sunlight, lightly dressed children like gay, painted butterflies. What's happened to the barometer? I don't know. Damn the barometer. Don't get cross, dear. Why can't you keep quiet, Simon? Go away. Sorry, Father. Don't interrupt again.