Going Home
"David knows," Bertie said on the ride home from the party. "I thought I could
trust Logue to at least be discreet. But I guess he can't help boasting about his famous
patient."
"Bertie, be fair. You don't know that for certain. David could have found out
anyway," Elizabeth chided.
Perhaps someone heard me shouting vowels out the window.
"My brother also accused me of trying to usurp him."
"Perhaps Mrs. Simpson put that in his head. Anything else?"
He couldn't tell her the rest. David was drunk. I should forget about it.
"No," he said. "That's all."