"It has been _here_ all the time." "Yes, yes," the Major sighed impatiently.

"Still, it's upsetting, you'll admit." "The end of the world!" Miss Marty gripped her apron, as if to cast it over her head.
"The Millennium, Miss Marty, is not the end of the world." "Oh, isn't it ?" "It merely means that Satan will be bound for a thousand years to come." "If that's all"-- Miss Marty walked to the bell-rope--"there's no harm in ringing for Scipio to bring in the omelet." "I beg your pardon ?" The Vicar, not for the first time, found it difficult to follow Miss Marty's train of thought.
"Scipio never repeats what he hears at table: I'll say that for him.
And I believe in feeding people up." The Vicar turned to Major Hymen, who had pushed back his chair and was staring at the tablecloth from under a puckered brow.
"I fear this has come upon you somewhat suddenly: but my first thought, as soon as I had convinced myself--" "Thank you, Vicar.

I appreciate that, of course." "And, after all--when you come to think of it--an event of this magnitude, happening in your mayoralty--" "Will they knight him, do you think ?" asked Miss Marty.
While the Vicar considered his answer, on top of this interruption came another--Scipio entering with the omelet.

Now the entrance of the Major's omelet was a daily ritual.

It came on a silver dish, heated by a small silver spirit-lamp, on a tray covered by a spotless linen cloth.