"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly.
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