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But whin I saw he wud be runnin' about, I grup his shtock in my left an' his waist-belt in my right an' swung him clear to my right front, head undher, he hammerin' my nose till the wind was knocked out av him on the bare ground. "Stand up," sez I, "or I'll kick your head into your chest!" and I wud ha' done ut too, so ragin' mad I was. "My collar-bone's bruk," sez he. "Help me back to lines.
He stirred a little, and his brow contracted, but he never took his eyes from her face. "Don't be upset," he said with an effort. "I'm not going to die!" "Tell me what to do," she urged piteously. "Can I lift you a little higher?" "For Heaven's sake no!" he said, and swallowed a shudder. "My collar-bone's broken." He was silent for a space, but still his dusky eyes watched her perpetually.
"'My collar-bone's bruk, sez he. 'Help me back to lines. I'll walk wid her no more. So I helped him back." "And was his collar-bone broken?" I asked, for I fancied that only Learoyd could neatly accomplish that terrible throw. "He pitched on his left shoulder point. Ut was.
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