Perhaps Olva, if there were really to be some "scraps," would be able to work off some of his apprehension, of his breathlessness.

Oh! for one wild ten minutes when scruples were flung to the winds, when there was at last in front of one an enemy whom one could touch, whom one could fling, physically, brutally, down before one! "The worst of it is," Lawrence was saying, "there are these town cads--they'll be in the back somewhere shoutin' ''It 'im, 'Varsity,' or somethin' and then runnin' for their lives if they see a Robert comin'.

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it's rotten bein', mixed up with such muck.