“I never thought I’d say this, Jack, but one *can* have too much of a good thing.” Phryne Fisher heaved her suitcase on top of the entirely unnecessary second bed, and sighed in disappointment when it failed to splinter into uselessness.
“Perhaps if you give it a good kick?” suggested Jack, secure in the knowledge that, no matter what fate Miss Fisher inflicted on the unfortunate bed, even she couldn’t do much damage to the industrial-strength sleeper sofa he was currently occupying (although just to be safe, he should probably confiscate both her gun and the brandy before bedtime).