His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down. “Fighting goes with loads of its own baggage, John. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you.
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