“I can’t help that , it gallops so nicely. I make it have all sorts of unexpected yearnings⁠—

‘Mother, may I go and maffick,

Tear around and hinder traffic?’

‘Mother, may I go and maffick, Tear around and hinder traffic?’

Of course you’ll say there would be no traffic worth bothering about on the bare and sun-scorched veldt, but there’s no other word that rhymes with maffick.”

“Seraphic?”