Double up one leg on the seat, let the other dangle freely, using the step as a stirrup, and you go rattling along almost as if you were on horseback.
We drove through a long suburb of Strabane into the busiest quarter of the busy little place.

The names on the shops were predominantly Scotch--Maxwells, Stewarts, Hamiltons, Elliotts.

I saw but one Celtic name, M'Ilhenny, and one German, Straub.

I changed gold for enormous Bank of Ireland notes at a neat local bank, and the cheery landlord of the Abercorn Arms gave us a fresh car to take us on to Letterkenny, a drive of some twenty miles.
The car came up like a small blizzard, flying about at the heels of an uncanny little grey mare.

Lord Ernest knew the beast well, and said she was twenty-five years old.