ld kill Forister.

I thought the Colonel never would give over chasing citizens, but at
last he returned breathless, having scattered the populace over a wide
stretch of country. The preliminaries were very simple. In a
half-minute Forister and I, in our shirts, faced each other.

And now I passed into such a state of fury that I cannot find words to
describe it; but, as I have said, I was possessed with a remarkable
clearness of vision and strength of arm. These phenomena amaze me even
at this day. I was so airy upon my feet that I might have been a
spirit. I think great rages work thus upon some natures. Their
competence is suddenly made manifold. They live, for a brief space,
the life of giants. Rage is destruction active. Whenever anything in
this world needs to be destroyed, nature makes somebody wrathful.
Another thing that I recall is that I had not the slightest doubt of
my ability to kill Forister. There were no more misgivings: no
quakings. I thought of the impending duel with delight.

In all my midnight meditations upon the fight I had pictured myself as
lying strictly upon the defensive and seeking a chance opportunity to
damage my redoubtable opponent. But the moment after our swords had
crossed I was an absolute demon of attack. My very first lunge made
him give back a long pace. I saw his confident face change to a look
of fierce excitement.

There is little to say of the flying, spinning blades. It is only
necessary to remark that Forister dropped almost immediately to
defensive tactics before an assault which was not only impetuous but
exceedingly brilliant, if I may be allowed to say so. And I know that
on my left a certain Colonel Royale was steadily growing happier.

The end came with an almost ridiculous swiftness. The feeling of an
ugly quivering wrench communicated itself from the point of my sword
to my mind; I heard Strepp and Royale cry "Hold!" I saw Forister fall;
I lowered my point and stood dizzily thinking. My sight was now
blurred; my arm was weak.

My sword had gone deep into Forister's left shoulder, and the bones
there had given that hideous feeling of a quivering wrench. He was not
injured beyond repair, but he was in exquisite agony. Before they
could reach him he turned over on his elbows and managed in some way
to fling his sword at me. "Damn your soul!" he cried, and he gave a
sort of howl as Lord Strepp, grim and unceremonious, bounced him over
again upon his back. In the