Sentence The Twohundredandtwentyfirst
“So,” breathed the indefinable WPC Isa Urquhart, towards the pink-faced man opposite her, “let me recap the quodlibetal and see what we can agree on and where we differ: you saw the car leave the road and cross the field before ploughing into the stand of bushes,” and The Gadfly nodded; “you approached the car and spoke to the driver – did you touch any part of the car?” he gulped; “I wrenched the driver's door open – Oh My God! my fingerprints!” but Isa shook her head gently, sympathetically; “don't worry, they will be on file with Carolina's department – you work there?” and he nodded, relieved; “okay, and you spoke to him and he spoke to you?” again he nodded, barely, almost imperceptibly, but nothing escaped the searching gaze of the dedicated WPC; “I told him I would call the emergency services from The Steading, but he gave me this phone – which I rather thought was strange for such a man, it having a pink case and him being so, erm, Manly,” and Isa could have sworn she saw a blush creep over his face; “and when you left him, do you think it possible he could get out of the car unaided?” and she saw The Gadfly's mind working as he tried to recall every detail of the inconnu and his situation: “I should think not, and as I walked back to the road I checked, that is to say I glanced back every few yards just to be sure everything was okay and I could see him still there, with the cows standing around seeming also to be watching him,” and Isa felt like they were two persons sharing a common language but such different dialects that there was no possibility of reconciling each other in this bipartisan discussion, as though The Gadfly's tongue was Romanesco while she was Neapolitan; “there were no cows when the Paramedics arrived, I've checked with them and they confirm – the field was empty, no cowpats, no trough, and we have checked with the Farmer, there have been no cows there for 15 months,” and she fancied that The Gadfly was about to cry, so handed him a Standard WPC Issue Tissue from the gadget belt that encircled her waist; “and there was no man in the car, the keys were gone from the ignition, and they checked the boot, it only contained, beside the spare tyre and a toolkit, a pink tutu!”
“So,” breathed the indefinable WPC Isa Urquhart, towards the pink-faced man opposite her, “let me recap the quodlibetal and see what we can agree on and where we differ: you saw the car leave the road and cross the field before ploughing into the stand of bushes,” and The Gadfly nodded; “you approached the car and spoke to the driver – did you touch any part of the car?” he gulped; “I wrenched the driver's door open – Oh My God! my fingerprints!” but Isa shook her head gently, sympathetically; “don't worry, they will be on file with Carolina's department – you work there?” and he nodded, relieved; “okay, and you spoke to him and he spoke to you?” again he nodded, barely, almost imperceptibly, but nothing escaped the searching gaze of the dedicated WPC; “I told him I would call the emergency services from The Steading, but he gave me this phone – which I rather thought was strange for such a man, it having a pink case and him being so, erm, Manly,” and Isa could have sworn she saw a blush creep over his face; “and when you left him, do you think it possible he could get out of the car unaided?” and she saw The Gadfly's mind working as he tried to recall every detail of the inconnu and his situation: “I should think not, and as I walked back to the road I checked, that is to say I glanced back every few yards just to be sure everything was okay and I could see him still there, with the cows standing around seeming also to be watching him,” and Isa felt like they were two persons sharing a common language but such different dialects that there was no possibility of reconciling each other in this bipartisan discussion, as though The Gadfly's tongue was Romanesco while she was Neapolitan; “there were no cows when the Paramedics arrived, I've checked with them and they confirm – the field was empty, no cowpats, no trough, and we have checked with the Farmer, there have been no cows there for 15 months,” and she fancied that The Gadfly was about to cry, so handed him a Standard WPC Issue Tissue from the gadget belt that encircled her waist; “and there was no man in the car, the keys were gone from the ignition, and they checked the boot, it only contained, beside the spare tyre and a toolkit, a pink tutu!”
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