That may not be, che-ild.
For one thing, that venison has made me sleepy. Secondly, I am just off to find a suitable and sheltered grove, within sound of the Atlantic, where I may spend an hour in meditation. Thirdly, I live for others.
Jonah wants to know if your husband can play golf. He does, of course. But can he?
Your dear old friend,
BERRY.
P.S.—D'you happen to know who owns a large grey cabriolet with a "G.B." plate? I imagine it lives at Biarritz. Anyway, they ought to be prosecuted. Driving about the country like a drunken hornet. Mercifully we were crawling. Otherwise … I tell you, it made my b-b-blood b-b-boil. Not at the time, of course.
* * * * *
The pine woods were wholly delightful.
The lisp of the wind among the branches, the faint thunder of the Atlantic, the soft sweet atmosphere showed us a side of Biarritz which we should have been sorry to miss. By rights, if music and perfume have any power, we should have fallen asleep. The air, however, prevented us. Here was an inspiriting lullaby—a sleeping-draught laced with cordial. We plucked the fruit from off the Tree of Drowsiness, ate it, and felt refreshed. Repose went by the board. We left the cars upon the road and went strolling….
"D'you think you could get me that spray?" said Jill suddenly.
In my cousin's eyes flora have only to be inaccessible to become desirable. Remembering this, I did as Berry and Jonah were doing—stared straight ahead and hoped very hard that she was not speaking to me.