My knuckles landed flat on his cheek and jaw.

There was a crack like a spar parting in a gale.

He was bowled clean over, landing in a heap on the floor a dozen feet away.
There was no laughter, only cries of surprise and murmurings and whisperings of "Yi Yong-ik." Again I folded my arms and stood with a fine assumption of haughtiness.

I do believe that I, Adam Strang, had among other things the soul of an actor in me.

For see what follows.