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his bitter disappointment. "Certainly."
"I'm awfully sorry, you know. Troubling you to dismount, and all that."
"No trouble. 'Ssure you," said Mr. Hoopdriver, mechanically and bowing
over his saddle as if it was a counter. Somehow he could not find it
in his heart to tell her that the man was beyond there with a punctured
pneumatic. He looked back along the road and tried to think of something
else to say. But the gulf in the conversation widened rapidly and
hopelessly. "There's nothing further," began Mr. Hoopdriver desperately,
recurring to his stock of cliches.
"Nothing, thank you," she said decisively. And immediately, "This IS the
Ripley road?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Ripley is about two miles from here.
According to the mile-stones."
"Thank you," she said warmly. "Thank you so much. I felt sure there was
no mistake. And I really am awfully sorry--"
"
Don't mention it," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Don't mention it." He
hesitated and gripped his handles to mount. "It's me," he said, "ought
to be sorry." Should he say it? Was it an impertinence? Anyhow!--"Not
being the other gentleman, you know."
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