“Gotten m’dam head knocked off,” he groaned, without moving. It was a refrain running through him. John’s attack had made it once audible.
“Up there in the path?”
He grunted.
“Who was it?”
Faintly, though very definitely, the Cornwall beauty expressed a passionate desire to be let alone.
“Was there a girl?” John asked.
“Huh!” said the hulk, instantly penetrated by the sound of that word.
John repeated the question.
The Cornishman stirred painfully, sat up, turned a stupidly grinning face and nodded—yes.
“Who took her away?” John asked, thumping the body to keep the mind afloat. “Tell me,” he said, shaking him by the hair. “Where did they go?” he asked, kicking him in the shins.