"Yes, well, I don't think the directors of the bank or Mr. Abercorn or anybody would single out Tessa and me. Bill, run down to your house and see if there aren't any more letters-"
There were: one for Midge and one for Bill. Bill brought them back, panting, and they sat round the fire and gazed happily at their cheques.
"Six pounds fifteen and five pounds," said Bill. "Now I've got eleven pounds fifteen! Great!"
"Well I don't know," said Midge cynically. "Look at Bill, he slaved away at scrubbing and baby-sitting and cutting holly and paper rounds and what did he make? Feathers. And just by pure luck, he gets money from Charlotte and money from a rare penny and money from the bank. That sort of thing," she said happily, "puts you off work."
From A JOB FOR SUSAN, Chapter 16, Money, Money, Money. The last words of Jane Shaw's last book, published in 1969.