He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town. "You are my prisoner. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes.
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