Explore "Scarhaven Keep" by J.S. Fletcher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The man was lying face downwards in the grass and weeds which clustered thickly at the foot of the hedgerow, and on the line of rough, weatherbeaten neck which showed between his fur cap and his turned-up collar there was a patch of dried blood. Very still and apparently lifeless he looked, but Vickers suddenly bent down, laid strong hands on him and turned him over.
"He's not dead! " he exclaimed. "Only unconscious from a crack on his skull. Gilling! -- where's that brandy you brought? -- hand me the flask."