“If you know it ain't the way to get off—whaddyer do it for?” said the heath-keeper, in a tone of friendly controversy.

“It's my first ride, as a matter of fact. But that's no excuse for my ah! blundering—”

At last he fell a-yawning so much that very reluctantly indeed he set about finishing this great and splendid day.

He woke up, turned over, saw the new moon on the window, wondered a little, and went to sleep again.

“Annoying her!” That any human being should do that!

It was one of my uncle's profoundest remarks that human beings are the only unreasonable creatures.

“Unspeakable cad! My dear girl! Possible I AM an unspeakable cad. Who wouldn't be—for you?”

She still scarcely realises, you see, the scrape she has got into.

They did not look round, and he kept them just within sight, getting down if he chanced to draw closely upon them round a corner.

“I'll be level with you yet,” ran like a plough through the soil of his thoughts.

“I will do what has to be done.”

“A mother's love,” she said. “I bear her THAT.”

“Beastly cheap, after all, this suit does look, in the sunshine.”

“I believe you would,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, admiring her. “You're plucky enough—goodness knows.”

“AS dead. It was one of the luckiest shots I ever fired. And I wasn't much over nine at the time, neither.”

“Nothing,” said Widgery, and aside in her ear: “You really ate scarcely anything, you know.”

“If you don't want your face sp'iled, Charlie, why don't you keep your mouth shut?” said the person in gaiters.

“WORK. Stop playing at life. Face it like a man.”

“I'm not a-going to tell all my secrets to any one who comes at me,” said Hoopdriver. “Not Likely.” And added fiercely, “And that I tell you, sir.”

A podcast conversation about the future of cycling through Technology, with Lance Armstrong and Terra API