"They have no feelings, and that's why they're made inspectors."
"Hush!" I said, and began to read:—
"'In pursuance of the directions given in an Act passed in the fifth and sixth years of the reign of King William the Fourth, entitled "An Act to consolidate and amend the Laws relating to Highways in that part of Great Britain called England," I, T. Bradish, of the Town Hall, Smoltham, do hereby give you notice forthwith to cut, prune, plash or lop certain Trees and Hedges overhanging the highway immediately adjoining your premises, No. 15, East Gate, in the Parish of Smoltham, and which are causing an obstruction and annoyance to the said highway, so that the obstructions caused to the said highway shall be removed.
"'Dated this 19th day of October, 1917.'"
"Isn't it priceless?" I said.
"It is," said Francesca. "I never knew before that a road could be annoyed."
"Even a road has its feelings."
"Yes, perhaps it's a short lane, and everybody tramples on it, and it turns at last."
"So do borough engineers and surveyors, it seems."
"I bet this one's a Tartar."