"Christ almighty," Barked Maltravers. "My old chap is the colour of an Icelandic sunset after
tussling with that native gel!"
"Keen on the
rumpo, was she?" inquired
Wilberforce looking up from his copy of 'the felchers gazette'.
"Keen?!!" spluttered Maltravers. "She went at it like a belt fed wombat!!!"