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Updated: June 7, 2025
After a little more conversation we started on our way back to Oxford, and as we left the garden I heard Tom Harrison say, "Two beers and two bottles of stout as quick as we can 'ave em; my throat's like a limekiln." And considering the amount he had said at the top of his voice, I should think it was very likely true.
"I wouldn't be saying it so that any of the boys or girls should hear me, not for my throat's sake. I am the only one of 'em," he added, whispering still lower than before, "that's doing a ha'porth for the masther. There are the two young ladies a-working their very fingers off down to the knuckles. As for me, I've got it all on my shoulders."
To try and find water, for my throat's like sand, and something to eat better than these chestnuts, for I don't believe they are anything like ripe. Oh dear! This is a rum start altogether. I don't know what to do. This is coming to the wars, and no mistake! There never was really such unlucky chaps as we are. It will be dark before long. Then I shall seem to be quite alone.
"His throat's already irritated," said Nance, in her most professional tone. "I am sure Dr. Adair wouldn't want him to smoke." "But we can't refuse him anything to-night," said Mrs. Clarke, with an apologetic smile as she reached for the matches.
The sun cleared the horizon, washing a sudden warmth over them. Lea gasped. "Your throat's been cut! You're bleeding to death!" "Not really," he said, touching his fingertips lightly against the blood-clotted wound that circled his neck. "Just superficial." Depression sat on him as he suddenly remembered the battle and death of the previous night.
"You look very hot, Edward," exclaimed Lady Hartledon, as she kissed him. "How do you feel?" "My throat's sore, mamma, and my legs could not find a cold place all night. Feel my hand." It was a child's answer, sufficiently expressive. An anxious look rose to her countenance. "Are you sure your throat is sore?" "It's very sore. I am so thirsty."
But why Thugs should be here and attack Haydon seems a most extraordinary mystery. How do you feel now, Haydon?" "Much better, sir," replied Jack. "My throat's a bit stiff, but for the rest I am none the worse." "You've had a wonderful escape, my boy," said Colonel Keppel; "there are not many who have felt a Thug noose and lived to say what it was like. But now, Doctor, what are we to do?
And chiefly it seizes me in the later part of the day; therefore, I'd have you take me to the Court to-morrow morning betimes, ere it's at its worst. My throat's like any limekiln for dryness now; so do pray, Kit, fasten the door snug, and give me a mug of ale."
"Well, t' haave yer bowels think yer throat's cut isn't sauncy!" he said. The fire was low and the kettle cold. "Here, Johnny," Withero said, "jist run over t' Farren's for a ha'p'orth ov turf an' we'll haave a cup o' tay fur these folks who're workin' overtime palaverin' about th' dead! Moses alive, wan corpse is enough fur a week or two don't kill us all entirely!"
"Ou, ay, ay, ay but a's forgotten now," replied Madge, in the confidential tone of a gossip giving the history of her next-door neighbour "Ye see, I spoke to them mysell, and tauld them byganes suld be byganes her throat's sair misguggled and mashackered though; she wears her corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, but that canna hinder the bluid seiping through, ye ken.
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