He
expects them to shake hands, but I'm hanged if they're going to. By
Jove! There'll be a mess here if the police get to hear anything."
"But why should they shake hands if they're going to fight?" asked
Sally, forcing spurious interest. So she bled herself--sapping
vitality to give him pleasure. And he took it--as a man
will--unconscious of receiving anything.
"Why? Oh--it's the rules of boxing. The whole thing is supposed to
be done in a friendly spirit. These chaps down here would probably
cut each other's throats for a song. What's the good of their shaking
hands?"
The combatants were still standing reluctant. It seemed for the
moment as if the whole affair were about to topple over into a state
of confusion.
"Go on, Jim," urged one man in the ring; "shake 'ands wiv 'im. Damn
'is eyes--'e's a gen'leman--ain't 'e? Go 'arn, shake 'ands."
"Look 'ere," said the master, "if there's any of yer blasted bunkum
about this, yer can damn well see to it yourselves. I won't touch
yer bloody money."
The words shuddered through Sally's ears.
"Go 'arn, Jim, shake 'ands. Can't yer see 'e'll drop the 'ole bloomin'
show if yer don't, an' damn it, I've got a couple o' bob on yer.
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