"Of course it's going to be disastrous," said Wendell in his letter-to-The-Times voice. He was always worrying. "But no one has the guts to do anything about it."
"Disastrous?" Gotty repeated reluctantly. As far as she was concerned, the only disaster in the air tonight would be if Wendell prevented her going to sleep.
"If present trends continue." His indignation made their bed crak. "If the price of Bauxite continue to rise."
So they were talking about Bauxite. In her sleepy state Gotty had been running down a path on the way to her primary school. Somehow, she found the energy to sit up and clear her head. He expected his wife to be interested in everything he said.
"What is Bauxite, Wendell?"
