But the scene with Anastasia Hille, with her hands tied behind her back, being hurled towards my corner by the robbers, so that she was barely ten inches from my face, posed a real dilemma for me. As a gentleman of the second Elizabethan age I felt it my duty to assist her, at least by restoring her shoulder strap and white petticoat.
But as a coarse groundling of the first Elizabethan age I would have surely been more inclined to ogle her in her distress and let the villains have their way. In accordance with John Walsh's plea, I "learned my lines" and let the action take its lip-smacking course.
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