"Thank you," he said.

"It is a great relief to stretch one's arms after they have been compressed with cords.

But at the same time, I do not know that I am really grateful.

The martyr's crown was hanging above me, so to speak, and now it has vanished into the pit, like that man whom Bickley murdered." "Look here," exclaimed the exasperated Bickley, "if you say much more, Bastin, I'll chuck you into the pit too, to look for your martyr's crown, for I think you have done enough mischief for one morning." "If you are trying to shift the responsibility for that unfortunate man's destruction on to me--" "Oh! shut it and trot," broke in Bickley.

"Those infernal savages are coming with your blessed converts leading the van." So we "trotted" at no mean pace.