“Compress her wind-pipe, Fisher,” I advised. “Tap her claret! Hold her legs! She kicks!”
Such a contest was too fierce to last; her vigor relaxed; Fisher was enabled to thrust her head beneath his arm, and I to lift her by the knees, so that by the time the policemen arrived all they had to do was to raise our foe from the floor and bear her away still kicking freely and calling down the vengeance of Heaven upon us.
My first thought was for the unfortunate witness of this engagement.
“You are upset, Miss Kerry; you are disturbed, I fear. Let me bring you water.”
“I'm all right, thanks,” she replied, with wonderful composure, though she was pale as a sheet by now.
“But what is this?” I cried, pointing to a mark on her face. “Were you struck?”
“It's nothing,” she replied, feeling for her handkerchief. “She hit me by mistake.”