The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. He drew a little breath of relief. As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. The passage was so narrow that there was only sufficient room for the cart to pass, with a single line of foot-soldiers on one side; and, as the walls of the bridge were covered with spectators, it was not deemed prudent to cross it till these persons were dislodged. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. His sister followed. The likeness was ridiculous. Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. Your Mom says to come downstairs for dessert.
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