This seemed to convince Latour that I was his master.

His distress passed quickly and he got up and began brushing the dust from his pretty riding coat and trousers.

I saw that he was winded and in no condition to resume the contest.
I felt as fresh as if I had mowed only once around the field, to quote a saying of my uncle.
"We'll have to fight it out some other day," he said.

"I'm weak from the loss of blood.

My nose feels as if it was turned wrong side out." "It ought to be used to the grindstone after two years of practise," I remarked.