a blow—in the stomach.”
“My nephew Oliver hit a policeman in the stomach?”
“Absolutely in the stomach. And next morning the beak sent him to the Bastille for thirty days without the option.”
I was looking at her a bit anxiously all this while, to see how she was taking the thing, and at this moment her face seemed suddenly to split in half. For an instant she appeared to be all mouth, and then she was staggering about the grass, shouting with happy laughter and waving the trowel madly.
It seemed to me a bit of luck for her that Sir Roderick Glossop wasn’t on the spot. He would have been sitting on her head and calling