He bent forward and kissed her.
"Late?
It isn't late, dear.

I said I couldn't come before eight, didn't I?
Well, it's eight, isn't it ?" "It's nearly seventy minutes past eight, sir.

I've been waiting and watching the hands on the clock for just sixty minutes." "I never saw such a perfect crank about keeping time as that grandfatherly clock of yours.

It hasn't skipped a second in two centuries, I'll swear.

You see, I was playing off the odd game with Tom Ditton." He dropped lazily into a big arm-chair, drove his hands into his pockets and stretched out his long legs toward the grate.
"You might have come at eight, Hugh, on this night if no other.