cigarette. I groped for the bell.
Jeeves came in looking as fresh as a dewy violet. It’s a mystery to me how he does it.
“Tea, Jeeves.”
“Very good, sir.”
He flowed silently out of the room—he always gives you the impression of being some liquid substance when he moves; and I found that Rocky was surging round with his beastly letter again.
“What is it?” I said. “What on earth’s the matter?”
“Read it!”
“I can’t. I haven’t had my tea.”
“Well, listen then.”
“Who’s it from?”
“My aunt.”
At this point I fell asleep again. I woke to hear him saying:
“So what on earth am I to do?”
Jeeves trickled in with the tray, like some silent stream meandering over its mossy bed; and I saw daylight.
“Read