"I'll employ a few cliches. We mustn't rush our fences or charge about like a bull in a china shop. Everything will come out in the wash."
"I adore cliches," Rose avowed unsimilingly. "Kurt, you behave. We have agreed to do certain things first thing in the morning. They will be more interesting than losing the temper and thrashing an aborigine. You look for that horse. Leave Captain and Gup-Gup to me."
The powerful, square-faced cattleman who had thrived on battling with drought and flood and fire, who had fisted his way to and fro across these northern mountains and over the spaces of the arid desert, subsided physically and mentally, and grinned like a boy found in an apple tree.
"The wife's always right," he admitted to Bony. "We start a race. I ride straight and true and hard. She rides round corners, stops to admire the scenery, rides on again and stops to do her hair. And gets first to the post. It's been always like that."
"Well, it isn't hard to take, is it?" asked the chuckling Bony.
"No, not particularly" (96).
"The Aboriginal Culture is like a well to the bottom of which no white man has ever descended to the water of complete knowledge, and because of the ever-expanding influence of an alien white race, no white man ever will. Confusion has been created by the white man himself to add to the certainty of frustration and defeat in his latter day efforts to investigate. Today it isn't possible to determine what are the legitimate legends and what the fabrications of imaginative white men" (107-8).