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Frith
Robert
Beatrice
Roger
Maxim

英式拼写

__1__. 'Well, my dear, here I am, what a splendid day, isn't it?' __2__.
'You don't look well,' she said immediately, looking me up and down, 'much too thin in the face and no colour. What's wrong with you?'
'Nothing,' I said humbly, knowing the fault of my face too well. 'I'm not a person who ever has much colour.'
'Oh, bosh,' she replied, 'you looked quite different when I saw you before.'
'__3__,' I said, getting into the car.
'H'mph,' she said shortly, 'you're as bad as Maxim. Can't stand any criticism about your health. Slam the door hard or it doesn't shut.' We started off down the drive, swerving at the corner, going rather too fast. 'You're not by any chance starting an infant, are you?' she said, turning her hawk-brown eyes upon me.
'No,' I said awkwardly. 'No, I don't think so.'
'No morning sickness or anything like that?'
'No.'
'Oh,  __4__.'
'No, really, Beatrice,' I said, 'there's nothing to tell.'
'__5__.'
'Of course not,' I said. What an extraordinary conversation.

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