“Yah gotta!” said Mr. Dunne.
Two wavering, quivering legs rose slowly from the mat, attained an angle of forty-five degrees, and dropped back to earth with a thud. Their owner had been forcibly reminded of the three creases in her stomach by the fact that they had unanimously set to writhing and grinding upon each other in fiery convolutions of protest, resultant upon the unwonted angle of the legs.
“Higher!” commanded the pitiless Mr. Dunne.
“Can’t!”
“Gotta!”
With a spasmodic heave, the victim attained perhaps fifty degrees of elevation, and straightened out, gasping. Next her instructor had her sit up erect from a flat position, without aid from hands or elbows, whereat all the muscles in her back, thighs, and abdomen, hitherto unawakened, roused themselves and yelled in chorus. Then he had her repeat the whole devastating process from the first before he spoke the word of reprieve.
“Nuff!”
Darcy rolled over on her face and lay panting. “How d’ yah feel?”
“Awful!” gasped Darcy.
“Still a bit stiff?”