So he decided to postpone it, and contented himself with warding and
dodging his furious lunges and rushes, and gave him no blow in return.
Until, at last, after one or two heavy falls of his own occasioning, Tom
gave it up, spluttered a final commination on his opponent, and turned
to go home.
He went blunderingly down into the hollow way, and Gard stood watching
him in doubt.
It seemed hardly possible he could cross the Coupee in that state, and
he felt a sort of moral responsibility towards him. Much as he detested
him, he had no wish to see him go reeling over into Coupee bay.
So he set off after him to see him safely across, and Tom, hearing him
coming, groped in the crumbling side wall till he found a rock of size,
and sent it hurling up the path with another curse.
Then he blundered on, and Gard followed. And Tom stopped again by one of
the pinnacles and sought another rock, and flung it, and it dropped
slowly from point to point till it landed on the shingle three hundred
feet below.
He stood there in the dim light, cursing volubly in patois and shaking
his fist at Gard; but at last, to Gard's great relief, he humped his
back and stumbled away up the cutting on the further side.
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