(They spring up hastily,
grasping their guns.)
DRINKWATER. Dineger! Yuss: should think there wors dineger. It's
howver, thow, as it mowstly his baw the tawm YOU'RE awike. (They
relapse into lassitude.) Waw wasn't you on the look-aht to give
us a end? Bin hattecked baw the Benny Seeras (Beni Siras), we ev,
an ed to rawd for it pretty strite, too, aw teoll yr. Mawtzow is
it: the bullet glawnst all rahnd is bloomin brisket. Brarsbahnd e
dropt the Shike's oss at six unnern fifty yawds. (Bustling them
about) Nah then: git the plice ready for the British
herristoracy, Lawd Ellam and Lidy Wineflete.
REDBOOK. Lady faint, eh?
DRINKWATER. Fynt! Not lawkly. Wornted to gow an talk, to the
Benny Seeras: blaow me if she didn't! huz wot we was frahtnd of.
Tyin up Mawtzow's wound, she is, like a bloomin orspittle nass.
(Sir Howard, with a copious pagri on his white hat, enters
through the horseshoe arch, followed by a couple of men
supporting the wounded Marzo, who, weeping and terrorstricken by
the prospect of death and of subsequent torments for which he is
conscious of having eminently qualified himself, has his coat off
and a bandage round his chest. One of his supporters is a
blackbearded, thickset, slow, middle-aged man with an air of
damaged respectability, named--as it afterwards appears--Johnson.
Lady Cicely walks beside Marzo. Redbrook, a little shamefaced,
crosses the room to the opposite wall as far away as possible
from the visitors.
Pages:
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53