It was some compensation that morning that a recovered Hardy, instead of taking his usual piece out of her, had butted her gently with his head and then licked her hand in gratitude. “I cannot afford to ‘eat the underrooms,” he told me last night. “I don’t know what to do,” she cried, flinging her arms round the horse’s neck, shuddering uncontrollably in her thin, mist-soaked jersey. “A bad workman blames his tool,” he said.
”“Dake?” said Helen, puzzled. “Well, mind you look after him. I’d have killed you if it had been anyone, I was so jealous. untouched duty-free bottle, Billy drinking one disgusting cup of black coffee from the sachets after another.
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