"Well?"
"I'm sorry about last night!"
"What's the good of bein' sorry?..."
"I meant to stop it!..."
"I daresay," she said, laughing at him.
"I did. I did, indeed. I can't help feeling nervous. I've always been like that. I want to do things ... I try to do them ... but something inside me runs away ... that's what it is, Sheila ... it isn't me that runs away ... it's something inside me!"
"Bosh," she said.
"It's true, Sheila. My father could tell you that. I always funk things, not because I want to funk them, but because I can't help it. I'd give the world to be able to stop a horse, like that one last night, but I can't do it. I get paralysed somehow!..."
"I never heard of any one like that before," she exclaimed.
"No, I don't suppose you have. If you knew how ashamed I feel of myself, you'd feel sorry for me. I was awake the whole night!"