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The constable repeated the order in an authoritative voice until a curate came running with the glass. The brandy was forced down the man's throat. In a few seconds he opened his eyes and looked about him. He looked at the circle of faces and then, understanding, strove to rise to his feet. "You're all right now?" asked the young man in the cycling-suit.
The young man in the cycling-suit took the man by the other arm and the crowd divided. "How did you get yourself into this mess?" asked Mr. Power. "The gentleman fell down the stairs," said the young man. "I' 'ery 'uch o'liged to you, sir," said the injured man. "Not at all." "'ant we have a little...?" "Not now. Not now."
"Help this young man! How can you stand and see it?" A cry of "The tarpaulin!" arose. An earnest-looking man in a very light grey cycling-suit had suddenly appeared at the side of the lame motor-car and addressed the owner. "Have you a tarpaulin?" he said. "Yes," said the gentlemanly man. "Yes. We've got a tarpaulin." "That's it," said the earnest-looking man, suddenly shouting.
What's his name and address?" A young man in a cycling-suit cleared his way through the ring of bystanders. He knelt down promptly beside the injured man and called for water. The constable knelt down also to help. The young man washed the blood from the injured man's mouth and then called for some brandy.
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