"I'm caught in this da—infernal bush," Roly cried, struggling.
"I wasn't to expect you for a week, you wrote."
He began to writhe and wrench. "You needn't. I shall stay here forever, I believe."
She gave the merriest laugh: "You're simply fixed!"
"Wait till I get at you!" He tried and was more firmly held. "I say, what the dickens has happened to me?"
She put her hands together, enjoying his plight as a child that bends forward at a play. "You'll never get through there, Roly. You'll have to go back."
He wrenched and struggled: "Go back! There's a great spike or something sticking into me!"
His struggles broke a network of branches at his waist. A thorny bough sprang loose and whipped beneath his chin, forcing up his head.
"Good Lord! Look here, Audrey, I shall cut my throat and bleed to death; or this dashed spike will come slick through my back in a minute and impale me!"
"Roly! If you knew how funny you look!"