“Toe the scratch, then,” said Ross. “I must say you're good at your gruel.”
Philip flung himself on his man a third time, and fell more heavily than before, under a flush hit that seemed to bury itself in his chest.
“I can't go on fighting a man that's as good for nothing as my old grandmother,” said Ross.
But his contempt was abating; he was growing uneasy; Philip was before him as fierce as ever.
“Fight your equal,” he cried.
“I'll fight you,” growled Philip.
“You're not fit. Give it up. And look, the dark is falling.”
“There's enough daylight yet. Come on.”
“Nobody is here to shame you.”
“Come on, I say.”