“A devilish temper she had,” Uncle Andrew would say. “but she was a dem fine woman, sir, a dem fine woman.”
C. S. Lewis ~ The Magician’s Nephew
Skandar felt most comfortable around Wilfred, whose light-heated treatment of life encouraged Skandar to pursue the acquaintance. Thus a few days after the ceremony, Skandar lingered behind at the dining room to talk with Wilfred.
“Say, Wilfred,” he said, “I noticed quite a few of your family at the church, especially the girls. Are they all your sisters?”
Wilfred nodded and rolled his eyes.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “There are far too many of them for my comfort. You don’t have a sister, right? I’ll give you one of mine. You don’t know anything about girls until you’ve struggled through life with a sister.”
“Yes, I do,” said Skandar. “I know a girl—a right plucky one.”
“Well…I suppose that’s alright, if she’s a plucky one. One of my sisters is like that, full of pluck and fire.”
Skandar’s eyes lit up.
“Don’t you love that? Pluck! Why don’t more girls have pluck?”
“I don’t know,” said Wilfred. “I think they—most of ‘em—have the pluck sort of plucked out of them.”
Wilfred lowered his voice.
“Don’t tell the bishop,” he said, “but I think the Church likes women as unplucked as a chicken for the pot.”