"What—not with finesse?" said her husband.
"Rather," said I. "Ginger, too."
"What d'you mean—'ginger'?"—suspiciously.
"Determination," said I hurriedly.
"Not the b-b-bull-dog b-b-breed?"
"The same," said I. "All underhung. 'Shove-me-and-I'll-shove-your-face' sort of air. It was most noticeable."
Berry slammed the door and felt for the self-starter….
As we bucketed down the next slope—
"I only wish," he said, "that we could encounter the deceitful monger responsible for including this road among les grands itinéraires. I can stand pot-holes, but the remains of a railway platform which might have been brought from one of what we know as 'the stricken areas,' laid, like linoleum, upon a foot of brickdust, tend to make you gird at Life. Incidentally, is this fast enough for you? Or are your livers still sluggish?"
"I think," said I, nodding at a huge pantechnicon, "that we might pass the furniture."