Trina tore the napkins into strips, and, crushing some of the ice, made a bandage for her husband's head.' The party resolved itself into two groups; the Ryers and Mrs.Heise bending over Marcus, while the harness-maker and Trina came and went about McTeague, sitting on the ground, his shirt, a mere blur of red and white, detaching itself violently from the background of pale-green grass.

Between the two groups was the torn and trampled bit of turf, the wrestling ring; the picnic baskets, together with empty beer bottles, broken egg-shells, and discarded sardine tins, were scattered here and there.

In the middle of the improvised wrestling ring the sleeve of Marcus's shirt fluttered occasionally in the sea breeze.
Nobody was paying any attention to Selina.

All at once she began to giggle hysterically again, then cried out with a peal of laughter: "Oh, what a way for our picnic to end!".