Mark what I'm going to say.' At that moment he laid a heavy, hard grip upon my shoulder; and whether he said anything more or came to a full stop at once, I am sure I could not tell you to this day.

For, as the devil would have it, the shoulder he laid hold of was the one Goguelat had pinked.

The wound was but a scratch; it was healing with the first intention; but in the clutch of Major Chevenix it gave me agony.

My head swam; the sweat poured off my face; I must have grown deadly pale.
He removed his hand as suddenly as he had laid it there.

'What is wrong with you ?' said he.
'It is nothing,' said I.