(*)*(*)
"Seriously?" Greg wants to know. Stanley, who is one of those slow sort of chaps, grins at him like a right loon, having retreated gratefully back into what Greg thinks is his naturally silent state. "You did that?"
Mr Whirring twitters, "Yes, well, he thought he was helping. You know, what with the kids coming and all. Busses of them. That morning, especially."
"Helping?"
Greg is floored. Poleaxed.