"You wish me to be explicit?
Maud Barrington is devilishly pretty, but it is quite out of the question that you should ever marry her." Winston turned towards him with the veins on his forehead swollen.
"Granting that it is so, what is that to you ?" Courthorne nodded as if in comprehension.

"Well, I'm probably not consistent, but one rarely quite loses touch with everything, and if I believed that my kinswoman was growing fond of a beggarly prairie farmer, I'd venture to put a sudden stop to your love-making.

This, at least, is perfectly bona fide, Winston." Winston had borne a good deal of late, and his hatred of the man flared up.

He had no definite intention, but he moved a pace forward, and Courthorne touched the horse with his heel.

It backed, and then, growing afraid of the blackness about it, plunged, while Winston for the first time saw that there was a gap in the loosely-laid planking close behind it.