‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. You can’t do without an agent, and there’s no one can run you better than I can. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. ” “I didn’t understand—your idea of making love.
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