I took a walk round the garden three or four times, feeling the need of fresh air. On returning
Gowing noticed I was not smoking: offered me another cigar, which I politely declined. Gowing
began his usual sniffing, so, anticipating him, I said: “You’re not going to complain of the smell of
paint again?” He said: “No, not this time; but I’ll tell you what, I distinctly smell dry rot.” I don’t often
make jokes, but I replied: “You’re talking a lot of dry rot yourself.” I could not help roaring at this,
and Carrie said her sides quite ached with laughter. I never was so immensely tickled by anything
I have ever said before. I actually woke up twice during the night, and laughed till the bed shook