His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. He had been baptized there. “It sounds too ridiculous. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan, maliciously.
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