“Ah, yes! Wait lit’ bit and no clowd. Ching take you have cup flesh tea, and quite well d’leckly. You not likee execution?”
I shook my head.
“Velly good job cut allee head off. No go killee killee, burn ship no more.”
“We’re not used to seeing such things,” I said weakly, as I supported Barkins to keep him from slipping to the ground.
“You no go see execution when Queen Victolia cut off bad men’s head?”
I shook my head.
“Ah, I see,” said Ching. “Me tink you have velly gleat tleat. But I see, not used to see. Velly blave boy, not mind littlee bit next time.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t, doctor. It’s getting well now.”
It was Barkins who spoke, and his hands went suddenly to his injured leg, and held it, as he bent over towards it and rocked himself to and fro.
“Throbs and burns,” he said, drawing in his breath as if in pain. “I—I—”