A very long pause followed, so much so that I wondered if my mom and dad would ever speak to each other again. I wasn't afraid that they had argued; only we children fought, but each of them had fallen into a dream. Then dad hesitantly said: “You know, my dear, I am very sorry for all this.” Mom responded before he could finish his sentence. “It's perfectly fine, as long as everything goes well this time. And it will, right?” “Yes, yes, I am sure of it,” dad assured her, adding sarcastically: “I suppose I am capable of doing everything they ask of me. That I am capable of publishing a small suburban newspaper.” “Oh, my dear Piers, I know that the job isn't worthy of you,” mom said passionately. “Nevertheless, how divinely sent it is! How lucky that Mr. Morpurgo happens to own such a newspaper and how kind of him to want to help you...” Her voice faded before she finished her sentence. “Again,” simply added dad with a distracted tone. “Yes, it's strange that such a wealthy man as Morpurgo would bother to get involved with something like the Lovegrove Gazette. From what I hear, it yields satisfactory profits for what it is, but it's peanuts for someone with such huge interests.
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