“I was not dreaming!” she shouted, her irritation at her husband’s insouciance growing.
He looked across the breakfast table at his wife, barely concealing a smile, and replied, “I mean, come on Liesel, your father a ghost?”
“I know what I saw,” she pouted. “Harry woke me up with his racket and then I saw him. I nearly jumped out of my skin.”
He laughed, “You and me both. You screamed like a banshee, so to speak.”
She hit him playfully. “You’ll see, ye of little faith. You still haven't explained the broken vase, smart ass.”
“Some more tea?” he replied, fluttering his eye lashes impishly.
