Showing posts with label wound. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wound. Show all posts

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

Run through!



      What is it like to be run through? I'll tell you. For an instant, nothing. Then hideous, tearing agony for another instant — and then nothing again as you see the blade withdrawn and the blood welling on your shirt, for the pain is lost in shock and disbelief as your eyes meet your assailant's. It's a long moment, that, in which you realise you ain't dead, and that he's about to launch another thrust to finish you — and it's remarkable how swiftly you can move then, with a hole clean through you from front to back, about midway between your navel and your hip, and sprouting gore like a pump.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.153, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Wednesday, 30 November 2011

Flashy’s Sufferance



      The point is I ‘ve made capital out of my dishonourable scars by adhering to one golden rule — Flashy’s Sufferance, I call it: always convey, but never say, that your injury is a sight worse than it really is. It’s elementary, really In convalescence this ensures sympathy, if you play it properly — the barely perceptible wince, the sharp little intake of breath, the faint smile followed by the quick shake of the head, and never a word of complaint from the dear brave boy — but far more importantly, in the heat of battle it enables you to feign mortal hurt and shirk any further part in the action.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.309, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Tuesday, 29 November 2011

I speak with authority



      Wounds, believe it or not, can be quite handy, if you know how to make use of them. I speak with authority, having taken over twenty in my time, from my broken thigh at Piper’s Fort to the self-inflicted graze which enabled me to collapse artistically during the Boxer Rising (I was seventy-eight at the time, an age at which you can get away with a lot).


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.309, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Saturday, 22 November 2008

Strike only to wound



Old Morrison looked at me and groaned, and looked at his truncheon again.
 ‘It’s a terrible thing to tak’ human life,’ says he.
 ‘Don’t take it then,’ says I. Strike only to wound. Get your back against a wall and smash ’em across the knees and elbows.’
 The females set up a great howl at this, and old Morrison looked ready to faint.



Flash For Freedom!, p.18, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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