"I'd just love to hear--you are so wonderful." He took the praise with a clear, unwavering look, and without hint of acknowledgment.
"We go along--six rounds--seven rounds--eight rounds; an' honors even.
I've been timin' his rushes an' straight-leftin' him, an' meetin' his duck with a wicked little right upper-cut, an' he's shaken me on the jaw an' walloped my ears till my head's all singin' an' buzzin'.

An' everything lovely with both of us, with a noise like a draw decision in sight.

Twenty rounds is the distance, you know.
"An' then his bad luck comes.

We're just mixin' into a clinch that ain't arrived yet, when he shoots a short hook to my head--his left, an' a real hay-maker if it reaches my jaw.

I make a forward duck, not quick enough, an' he lands bingo on the side of my head.