“I began to think somebody had taken it away. Oh! Ah! I say—do mind; you’re tearing my flesh.”
“But I must cut you out. Now then, lift that leg and put your foot on this bramble.”
“It’s all very fine to talk, but I shall be in rags when I do get out.”
“That’s better: now the other. There, now, put your hand on my shoulder and give a jump.”
“I daren’t.”
“Nonsense—why?”
“I should leave half my toggery behind.”
“You wouldn’t: come along. Take my hands.”
Macey took hold of his companion’s hands, there was a bit of a struggle, and he stood bemoaning his injuries; which consisted of pricks and scratches, and a number of thorns buried deeply beneath his clothes.
“Nice place this is,” he said dolefully.