A feeling of helplessness swept over Mr. Pickering. He was vaguely conscious of a sense of being treated unjustly, of their being a flaw in Claire's words somewhere if he could only find it, but the sudden attack had deprived him of the free and unfettered use of his powers of reasoning. He gurgled wordlessly, and Claire went on, her low, sad voice mingling with the moonlight in a manner that caused thrills to run up an down his spine. He felt paralyzed. Caution urged him to make some excuse and follow it with a bolt to the drawing-room, but he was physically incapable of taking the excellent advice.
Sometimes when you are out in your Pickering Gem or your Pickering Giant, the car hesitates, falters, and stops dead, and your chauffeur, having examined the carburetor, turns to you and explains the phenomenon in these words: "The mixture is too rich." So was it with Mr. Pickering now. The moonlight alone might not have held him; Claire's voice along might not have held him; but against the two combined he was powerless.
(from Uneasy Money, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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