He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. ’ ‘You always were an old sobersides, even as a boy,’ retorted the major, who was close on thirty now, yet as ripe for excitement as he had been on receiving his first commission at sixteen. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. .
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