[Micah Clarke by Arthur Conan Doyle]@TWC D-Link bookMicah Clarke CHAPTER XXI 6/45
The instant that mine was enclosed in it he suddenly bent his whole strength upon it, and squeezed my fingers together until the blood tingled in the nails, and the whole hand was limp and powerless. 'Donnerwetter!' he cried, laughing heartily at my start of pain and surprise.
'It is a rough Prussian game, and the English lads have not much stomach for it.' 'Truly, sir,' said I, 'it is the first time that I have seen the pastime, and I would fain practise it under so able a master.' 'What, another!' he cried.
'Why, you must be still pringling from the first.
Nay, if you will I shall not refuse you, though I fear it may weaken your hold upon your sword-hilt.' He held out his hand as he spoke, and I grasped it firmly, thumb to thumb, keeping my elbow high so as to bear all my force upon it.
His own trick was, as I observed, to gain command of the other hand by a great output of strength at the onset.
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