You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. “I dare not,” she answered. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. He lost control of the machine.
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