“What is his sort?”
“Nay, you know better than I do. The sort of youngish gentleman a bit like a lady, and no balls.”
“What balls?”
“Balls! A man’s balls!”
She pondered this.
“But is it a question of that?” she said, a little annoyed.
“You say a man’s got no brain, when he’s a fool: and no heart, when he’s mean; and no stomach when he’s a funker. And when he’s got none of that spunky wild bit of a man in him, you say he’s got no balls. When he’s sort of tame.”
She pondered this.
“And is Clifford tame?” she asked.
“Tame, and nasty with it: like most such fellows, when you come up against ’em.”
“And do you think you’re not tame?”
“Maybe not quite!”
At length she saw in the distance a yellow light.
She stood still.
“There is a light?” she said.
“I always leave a light in the house,” he said.