Excerpt from Teddy, J.D. Salinger
“You know what I’d like to do?” Mr. McArdle said. “I’d like to kick your goddam head open.”
“Why don’t you?”
Mr. McArdle abruptly propped himself up on one elbow and squashed out his cigarette stub on the glass top of the night table. “One of these days—” he began grimly.
“One of these days, you’re going to have a tragic, tragic heart attack,” Mrs. McArdle said, with a minimum of energy. Without bringing her arms into the open, she drew her top sheet more tightly around and under her body. “There’ll be a small, tasteful funeral, and everybody’s going to ask who that attractive woman in the red dress is, sitting there in the first row, flirting with the organist and making a holy—”
“You’re so goddam funny it isn’t even funny,” Mr. McArdle said, lying inertly on his back again.