"How is your dear little dog, by the way?" enquired Sam solicitously,
as he fell into step by her side.
"Much better now, thanks. I've made friends with a girl on board--did
you ever hear her name--Jane Hubbard--she's a rather well-known big-game
hunter and she fixed up some sort of a mixture for Pinky which did
him a world of good. I don't know what was in it except Worcester
Sauce, but she said she always gave it to her mules in Africa when they
had the botts ... it's very nice of you to speak so affectionately of
poor Pinky when he bit you."
"Animal spirits!" said Sam tolerantly. "Pure animal spirits! I like to
see them. But, of course, I love all dogs."
"Oh, do you? So do I!"
"I only wish they didn't fight so much. I'm always stopping dog
fights."
"I do admire a man who knows what to do at a dog fight. I'm afraid I'm
rather helpless myself. There never seems anything to catch hold of."
She looked down. "Have you been reading? What is the book?"
"It's a volume of Tennyson.
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