It was a fine bright day, so I hired a motor-car and said I would drive it myself.

We asked the name of some beauty-spot to visit, and were told Cintra and shown the road to it.

I wanted a quiet place to talk, for I had a good deal to say to Peter Pienaar.
I christened that car the Lusitanian Terror, and it was a marvel that we did not smash ourselves up.

There was something immortally wrong with its steering gear.

Half a dozen times we slewed across the road, inviting destruction.