―Will you? said Stephen. You’d be afraid to open your lips.

―Afraid?

―Ay. Afraid of your life.

―Behave yourself! cried Heron, cutting at Stephen’s legs with his cane.

It was the signal for their onset. Nash pinioned his arms behind while Boland seized a long cabbage stump which was lying in the gutter. Struggling and kicking under the cuts of the cane and the blows of the knotty stump Stephen was borne back against a barbed wire fence.

―Admit that Byron was no good.

―No.

―Admit.

―No.