However, between ourselves, I don't think there will be much of
the old one left by the time we have finished. It looks awful at present.
I am building a new wall against the old one, so that it will look just
the same, only it will be new. The windows are going to be made bigger,
and there will be a new roof put on. Inside it will all have to come down,
all the woodwork was so rotten that it was dangerous to walk upstairs. It
is great fun looking after the workmen. And though your father does keep
on grumbling and saying that I am destroying the old place, I don't think
he really minds.
As I tell him, one could live in a house without windows nine months in
the year in Portugal, but it is not so in Ireland. One wants comfort,
Terence; and, as I have plenty of money, I don't see why we should not
have it. You can sleep on the ground, and go from morning till night in
wet clothes, when you are on a campaign, but that is no reason why you
should do it at other times. The weather is fine here now, at least your
father says it is fine, and I want to get everything pushed on and
finished before it changes to what even he will admit is wet. The people
here seem all very nice and pleasant. They are delighted at having your
father back again. I drive about with him a great deal, and we call upon
the neighbours, who all seem very pleased that the house is going to be
occupied again.
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