Nor had Gaydon anything to do with any city of dreams or with any lady that might ride into it, or with any black horse that chanced to carry her.

Poets no doubt talked that way.

It was their business.

Gaydon was not sorry that he had slept so heartily through those last stages.

He got down from the carriage and met Wogan coming from the inn with a face of dismay.
"We are stopped here.