“I'll drop myself first,” said Philip.
“If you won't give it up, I will,” said Ross.
“You shan't,” said Philip.
“Take your victory if you like.”
“I won't.”
“Say you've licked me.”
“I'll do it first,” said Philip.
Ross laughed long and riotously, but he was trembling like a whipped cur. With a blob of foam on his lips he came up, collecting all his strength, and struck Philip a blow on the forehead that fell with the sound of a hammer on a coffin.
“Are you done?” he snuffled.
“No, by God,” cried Philip, black as ink with the burnt gorse from the ground, except where the blood ran red on him.