George Manville Fenn,
Son Philip
“ Another effort, and he would have been on the edge of the shaft, when there was a sharp tug behind, and he felt himself arrested by the brambles that had twisted round one of his legs—a slight tug, but enough to stop him in his perilous position. The tangle of hazel boughs to which his legs were clinging came away with a fierce rush, an avalanche of earth fell, and Philip Hexton was once more swinging to and fro over the awful pit, listening with closed eyes to the rustle and rush of the great rooted-up hazel, as it fell into the pit. ”
