"The keepers say that a wounded boar is perfectly horrid sometimes." "Dangerous ?" Her eyes glimmered brighter still.
"Certainly, a wounded boar is dangerous.

I heard Miller say----" "Bosh!" said Scott.

"They run away from you every time.

Besides, Geraldine isn't going to have enough sporting blood in her to take that bet and make good." Something in the quick flush and tilt of her head reminded Scott of the old days when their differences were settled with eight-ounce gloves.
The same feeling possessed his sister, thrilled her like a sudden, unexpected glimpse of a happiness which apparently had long been ended for ever.
"Oh, Scott," she exclaimed, still thrilling, "it _is_ like old times to hear you try to bully me.

It's so long since I've had enough spirit to defy you.