sight.

A car came flying towards us. At the last I remarked with a smile it
was going our way. A flash of paint, a smack like the flap of a sail,
and we were by.

A farm was coming. I saw the white of its walls swelling to ells from
inches. I saw a hen, who had seen us, starting to cross our path.
Simultaneously I lamented her death--needlessly. She missed
destruction by yards. I found myself wondering whether, after all, she
had held on her way. Presently I decided that she had and, anxious to
retrace her steps, had probably awaited our passage in some
annoyance....

We swam up another hill, flicked between two waggons, slashed a village
in half and tore up the open road.

The daylight was waning now, and Piers switched on the hooded light
that illumined the instrument-board. With a frown I collected my lady
for one last tremendous effort before the darkness fell.

She responded like the thoroughbred she was.

I dared not glance at the speedometer, but I could feel each mile as it
added itself to our pace. I felt this climb from ninety to ninety-one.
Thickening the spark by a fraction, I brought it to ninety-two ...
ninety-three.... In a quiet, steady voice, Piers began to give me the
benefit of his sight.

"Something ahead on the right ... a waggon ... all clear ... cart, I
think, on the right ... no--yes. It's not moving.... A bicycle on the
left ... and another ... a car coming ... all clear ... no--a man
walking on the right ... all clear...."

So, our narrowed eyes nailed to the straight grey ribbon streaming into
the distance, the sea and the waves roaring in our ears, folded in the
wings of the wind, we cheated Dusk of seven breathless miles and sent
Nature packing with a fork in her breech.

Sore at this treatment, the Dame, as ever, returned, with Night himself
to urge her argument.

I threw in my hand with a sigh, and Piers switched on the lights as we
ran into Aire-sur-l'Adour.

I heard a clock striking as we swung to the left in the town....

Eight o'clock.

Two more hours and a quarter, and a hundred and nineteen miles to go.

I tried not to lose heart....

We had passed Villeneuve-de-Marsan, and were nearing, I knew,
cross-roads, when Piers forestalled my inquiry and spoke in my ear.

"Which shall you do? Go straight? Or take the forest road?"

"I don't know the Roquefort way, except that there's pavement there.
What's it like?"

"It's pretty bad," said Piers. "But