Women,' Mat declared as he rode Pips down the dusty, little-used road, 'are like mules.' He frowned. 'Wait. No. Goats. Women are like goats. Except every flaming one thinks she's a horse instead, and a prize racing mare to boot. Do you understand me, Talmanes?' 'Pure poetry, Mat,' Talmanes said, tamping the tabac down into his pipe.