She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. Then there was also the horse. He lifted her from the floor. "The Captain has seldom much appetite," replied Blueskin, who, having disposed of the fowl, was commencing a vigorous attack upon the sirloin.
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