There, it was obvious, stood a little person feminine from the curls around her ears to the hole in one of her stockings, and as highly and gladly sexed as a purring cat.
"Buck up, Tootles," cried Martin.

"Where do you keep the frying pan ?" She turned and gave him another searching look, this time of marked approval.

"My word, what a kid you look in the light!" she said.

"No one would take you for a blooming road-hog.

Well, who knows?
You and I may have been brought together like this to work out one of Fate's little games.