THE SIAMESE CAT
of vesper gongs from some neighbouring joss-house.
In the first minute, at the first onset, the whole affair seemed over. Reckless, and with the fatal folly of bad temper, Owen had rushed in, driven straight at that taunting smile the full force of his left, and met a staggering counter-shock that jarred his head backward as if on a bad hinge. His vision swam hazily; and in a ringing confusion the sailor's onslaught swept him back with a whirl of battering, half-guarded blows,—drove him to a corner, penned him, forced him to clinch. Hugging the smooth, hard-wrenched body, he heard a cool chuckle of triumph; then—as with straining muscles they pushed asunder, cautiously—a vicious jab, just above the belt, sent him sick and hopeless to the floor.
It slanted like a deck while he laboured dizzily to hands and knees. Above the tumult, the
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