The fly-driver touched his age-green hat with his whip.
"Aye," he said thickly, putting a sovereign into his waistcoat pocket. "Always the gentleman . . . a merciful man is merciful also to his beast. . . . But I wouldn't leave my little wooden 'ut, nor miss my breakfast, for no beast. . . . Some do and some . . . do not."
He drove off with the girl in the interior of his antique conveyance.
Tietjens remained on the slope of the bank, in the strong sunlight, beside the drooping horse. It had done nearly forty miles and lost, at last, a lot of blood.
Tietjens said:
"I suppose I could get the governor to pay fifty quid for it. They want the money. . . ."
He said:
"But it wouldn't be playing the game!"
A long time afterwards he said:
"Damn all principles!" And then: