Mr.Carrington did not so much as turn his head.

He put his walking-stick under his arm, and rubbed the knuckles of his left hand with rueful tenderness.

None the less he looked pleased; it was gratifying to a slight man of his sedentary habit to have knocked down such a large, round Pomeranian Briton with such exquisite neatness.
Wheeling their bicycles, Erebus and Wiggins walked beside him with a proud air.

They felt that they shone with his reflected glory.

It was a delightful sensation.
They had gone some forty yards, when Erebus said in a hushed, awed, yet gratified tone: "Have you killed him, Mr.Carrington ?" "No, my child.