bargain.
Tevis and I are dozing on the couch to a terrible reality television show from our newly-acquired cable service. Ripley has been muttering to himself and occasionally whistling, but now that there is a lull in the conversation, he begins his his smoke alarm impression.
"Stop it," I say. "That's too loud." He gleefully persists. Making to get off the couch, I say, "If you don't stop, we're going to leave."
"I'm sorry," he says, and falls silent.
"Stop it," I say. "That's too loud." He gleefully persists. Making to get off the couch, I say, "If you don't stop, we're going to leave."
"I'm sorry," he says, and falls silent.