She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. “I’m a ghoul! So you can become a ghoul? You should settle down, John, get married, have children. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. O'Higgins wandered into this street and that, studying the signs and resenting the Britisher's wariness in using too much tin and paint. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. He hasn't found himself, as they say. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. We will get on with the agreement and you shall have in it whatever rubbish you like.
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