george. Why, they didn't tell me and I didn't ask. Carp was laughing. Tatton chuckled . . . afterwards.
sarah. What had he to do?
george. Carp's second.
sarah. Unaccountable children!
george. Feather parade . . . throw in . . . parry quarte: over the arm . . . put by: feint . . . flanconade and through his arm . . . damned easy. The father didn't wince or say a word. I bound it up . . . the sight of blood makes me sick.
After a moment, sarah turns to ann.
sarah. Yes, and you've been a silly child.
george. Ah, give me a woman's guess and the most unlikely reason to account for anything!
ann. I hate that man. I'm glad Papa's not hurt. What about a surgeon?
george. No, you shall kiss the place well, and there'll be poetic justice done.