I was mistaken.
'Oh! you think I can't defend myself,' said Kiomi; and rushed in with one, two, quick as a cat, and cool as a statue.
'Fight, my merry one; she takes punishment,' the prizefighter sang out.
'First blood to you, Kiomi; uncork his claret, my duck; straight at the nozzle, he sees more lamps than shine in London, I warrant.

Make him lively, cook him; tell him who taught you; a downer to him, and I'll marry you to-morrow!' I conceived a fury against her as though she had injured me by appearing the man's property--and I was getting the worst of it; her little fists shot straight and hard as bars of iron; she liked fighting; she was at least my match.

To avoid the disgrace of seriously striking her, or of being beaten at an open exchange of blows, I made a feint, and caught her by the waist and threw her, not very neatly, for I fell myself in her grip.

They had to pluck her from me by force.
'And you've gone a course of tuition in wrestling, squire ?' the prizefighter said to me rather savagely.
The others were cordial, and did not snarl at me for going to the ropes, as he called it.

Kiomi desired to renew the conflict.