“You couldn’t do so many things in a day,” said Jonathan.
“No—maybe not.”
“But maybe that wouldn’t matter.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t,” I said.
VIII
The Ways of Griselda
“Of course you don’t know what her name is,” I said, as we stood examining the sleek little black mare Jonathan had just brought up from the city.
“No. Forgot to ask. Don’t believe they’d have known anyway—one of a hundred or so.”