The carriage gave another lurch and Maria Merryweather, Miss Heliotrope and Wiggins once more fell into each other's arms, sighed, gasped, righted themselves and fixed their attention upon those objects which were for each of them at this trying moment the source of courage and strength. Maria gazed at her boots, pushing them out from under the carriage rug for that purpose. Miss Heliotrope restored her spectacles, jolted from her aquiline nose by the swaying of the carriage, to their proper position, picked up the worn brown volume of French Essays from the floor, popped a peppermint in her mouth and peered once more in the dim light at the wiggly black print on the yellowed page. Wiggins meanwhile pursued with his tongue the taste of the long-since-digested dinner that still lingered among his whiskers. Humanity can be roughly divided into three sorts of people: those who find comfort in literature, those who find comfort in personal adornment, and those who find comfort in food, and Miss Heliotrope, Maria, and Wiggins were typical representatives of their own sort of people.
- The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge