‘And I have a very good mind to kill you. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. Of you, I mean. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. 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. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. You're luck.
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