"... 'Who's there'?" the voice echoes, somewhat poshly.
"I say, old chap-- you come upon somebody in the bloody throes of the worst dashed shock he's ever had, right as he intends to have a bit of a snack, and you're going to go round asking his name instead of if he's in any bloody pain?"
Laboriously, a pale hand appears over a counter at the far end of the room.
"Have it your own way, I suppose." And as the speaker hauls himself over the edge of the counter, he reveals himself to be a well-to-do gentleman in his middle twenties, sporting a jaunty green tie and a good deal of blood. "Bertram Wooster, at your service. And I do apologize about the swearing, dashed impolite of me, but you see I've fallen somewhat in the line of duty."
He holds out his arm for inspection. Something, or someone, has bitten him rather badly in the forearm.
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"I say, old chap-- you come upon somebody in the bloody throes of the worst dashed shock he's ever had, right as he intends to have a bit of a snack, and you're going to go round asking his name instead of if he's in any bloody pain?"
Laboriously, a pale hand appears over a counter at the far end of the room.
"Have it your own way, I suppose." And as the speaker hauls himself over the edge of the counter, he reveals himself to be a well-to-do gentleman in his middle twenties, sporting a jaunty green tie and a good deal of blood. "Bertram Wooster, at your service. And I do apologize about the swearing, dashed impolite of me, but you see I've fallen somewhat in the line of duty."
He holds out his arm for inspection. Something, or someone, has bitten him rather badly in the forearm.
"Hurts like bloody hell."