It's black and blue.
Look at it." She pulled up the loose sleeve of her blouse, and he saw the bruised imprints of two fingers.
Just then a gang of blacks came out from among the trees carrying the wounded man on a rough stretcher.
"Romantic, isn't it ?" Sheldon sneered, following Joan's startled gaze.
"And now I'll have to play surgeon and doctor him up.

Funny, this twentieth-century duelling.

First you drill a hole in a man, and next you set about plugging the hole up." They had stepped aside to let the stretcher pass, and Tudor, who had heard the remark, lifted himself up on the elbow of his sound arm and said with a defiant grin,-- "If you'd got one of mine you'd have had to plug with a dinner-plate." "Oh, you wretch!" Joan cried.

"You've been cutting your bullets." "It was according to agreement," Tudor answered.

"Everything went.