Rupert ran his fingers through his crisp black locks, wheeling to depart.
"He'll slip control and run wild," he predicted, grimly vicious. "He needs the training you're planning for him, all right, but he ain't got the stuff in him to stand it. He'll slip control—here's hoping he smashes himself this time!"
Gerard moved his head in disagreement.
"Wait," he advised. "You once said he could not last out a certain twenty-four-hour race."
"He didn't."
"He finished in third place."
"Because you helped him through, that's why. He didn't have to do it alone."
"He doesn't have to do this alone, either," reminded Gerard.
Rupert looked at him, then walked away, every line of his body reiterating the prediction he could not sustain argumentatively.