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.