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"You know," Tommy began pompously, "now that we're married I expect you to behave like the Victorian wife of yore. My patient Griselda and all that."
"Golly," said Tuppence. "Why on earth did you marry me, then?"
"You could at least give the flat a cat's lick and a promise, old thing," said Tommy plaintively.
"Well," said Tuppence pertly, "if it comes to that, so could you, old bean."
The flat was indeed a mess. Newspapers littered the floor with advertisements circled in red; the washing up lingered on the countertop. Soon, Tommy was gloomily certain, things would begin living in their flat that didn't pay their fair share of rent. Tuppence ran a dubious finger over the coffee table.
"...You know," she said carelessly, "that chap we saw out the window just now looked decidedly suspicious."
Tommy tilted his head to one side. "He did, didn't he?"
"He was heading off Piccadilly way," said Tuppence. "Get your coat."