"We work together no more. "Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. Don’t take my word for it though. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Lucy clasped her hands over her ears as it screamed. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. I don’t want to hear you. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors.
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