Clive said with approval, “Now you’re doing something.”
They stood round Duffy, watching him. The little guy pressing the bridge of his nose tenderly with his fingers, his eyes watering. Clive knelt on the floor with his lips swelling. He could feel that his front teeth moved a little when he touched them with his tongue. Joe stood with his hands hanging loose, like a dog deprived of its bone.
Duffy raised his head slowly. His face glistened with sweat. The shaded light from the ceiling lit his greenish skin. He was feeling awfully bad, but he held on to himself low down and rode with the pain. The blood ran down his chin from his lip. He could feel the salty taste in his mouth.
The little guy said, “Give.”
Duffy didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust his voice. He lay there, his eyes on the little guy, hating him.
The little guy said, “Ain’t you had enough?”
Duffy still said nothing.
The little guy raised his hand. “Soften him a little,” he said to Joe.
Joe smiled. He really took a pleasure in being tough. He put out an arm and his hand closed on Duffy’s shirt front, then he heaved a little. Duffy came up, like a cork out of a bottle. He gave a little grunt of anguish. His open hand smacked Joe across the eyes. Joe blinked. “Did you see what he did to me?” he said.
The little guy said, “Full of fight, ain’t he?”