He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. The water in the bowl stayed low. The lake on the floor began to recede back toward the base of the toilet.
“Your father says to pour a bucket of hot water from chest height,” she relayed. upstairs toilet clogged
A tentative knock came from the stairwell. “Mr. Finch?” Mrs. Gable’s voice, tight with controlled rage. “It has stopped dripping. But I must inform you, my bathroom ceiling now has a very distinct brown watermark in the shape of a question mark.” He waited