“You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. ‘I live in Kent. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. You shirk a straightforward and decent return for what you get from us— taking refuge in purity and delicacy and such-like when it comes to payment. So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand.
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