“Oh, not really queer, Captain Hastings, but when we went to the agents, Stosser and Paul⁠—we hadn’t tried them before because they only have the expensive Mayfair flats, but we thought at any rate it would do no harm⁠—everything they offered us was four and five hundred a year, or else huge premiums, and then, just as we were going, they mentioned that they had a flat at eighty, but that they doubted if it would be any good our going there, because it had been on their books some time and they had sent so many people to see it that it was almost sure to be taken⁠—‘snapped up’ as the clerk put it⁠—only people were so tiresome in not letting them know, and then they went on sending, and people get annoyed at being sent to a place that had, perhaps, been let some time.”

Mrs. Robinson paused for some much needed breath, and then continued: