Framton grabbed his hat/and ran through the hall door,/down the gravel drive,/past the front gate.// A cyclist just missed him/and ran into the hedge.//
　“Hello,/my dear,”/said the man/with the white coat/coming through the window.// “Just a little muddy.// Who was that person rushing out?”//
　“Mr. Nuttel,/a very strange man,”/said Mrs. Sappleton.// “He only talked about his illnesses.// Then he ran off/without saying goodbye/when you arrived.// You’d think/he had seen a ghost.”//
　“Maybe it was the spaniel,”/said her niece calmly.// “He told me/that once he was attacked by a pack of wild dogs/in India.// He spent the night/in an empty grave/with the dogs snarling above him.// That would terrify anyone.”//
　Telling tales at short notice/was her specialty.//