"A way you've no idea of.
A way that'll knock all you great people of Wellingsford off your high horses.

If you drive me to it, you'll see.

I'll bide my time and I don't care whether it breaks me." He stamped his foot and tugged at the bridle.

Two or three passers-by halted wonderingly and Prettilove, the hairdresser, moved across the pavement from his shop door where he had been taking the air.
"My good fellow," said I, "you have lost your temper and are talking drivel.

Kindly unhand my donkey." Prettilove, who has a sycophantic sense of humour, burst into a loud guffaw.