My father was an old fox-hunting squire in the Quorn country.
In a while, according to arrangement, Mr. Quorn returned, and this broke up our conclave.
I'd rather ride a horse with the Quorn for a week than in this country for a day.
"That's above-board," said Mr. Quorn, calmly pocketing the letter and returning his glasses to their case.
But they tell me she's well known with the Quorn and all that sort of thing.
