I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. Earles said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed upon her, “forty at the ‘Unusual,’ two turns, encores voluntary, six for matinées. See? You marry me. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. I want to make my own selection.
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