I Capture the Castle

by Dodie Smith

He shoved everything into the bag, hung it on his bicycle and rode off full-tilt, mangling the corner of a flower-bed. At the gatehouse, he suddenly braked, flung himself off and dashed up the tower stairs, leaving the bicycle so insecurely placed that it slid to the ground. By the time I had run across and picked it up, he was coming down carrying the willow-pattern plate. He pushed it into the carpet-bag, then started off again — pedalling frantically, with the bag thumping against his knees. At the first bend of the lane he turned his head sharply and shouted: “Good-bye” — very nearly falling off the bicycle. Then he was gone. Never have I known him so spasmodic — or have I? Wasn’t he rather like that in the days when his temper was violent?

I sincerely hope we learn wtf is up with this dude.