Lanyard dug the toe of a boot into his ribs
none too gently, but without satisfaction of any doubts. The fellow
gave no sign of sensibility, but lay utterly relaxed, with the look of
one dead.
Lanyard frowned uneasily. He had seen men drop dead from blows less
powerful than his, and though this one had well earned a death swift
and merciless, Lanyard experienced a twinge of horror at the thought.
Often enough it had been his lot in times of peace and war to be forced
to fight for life, and more than once to kill in defence of it; but
that had never happened, never could happen, without his suffering the
bitterest regret. Even now, in the case of this bloody-handed butcher,
this ruthless garroter....
Dropping to his knees, Lanyard bent over the body to search for
symptoms of animation. He perceived them instantly. With inconceivable
suddenness Dupont demonstrated that he was very much alive. An arm like
the flexible limb of a tree wound itself affectionately round Lanyard's
neck, clipped his head to Dupont's yearning bosom, ground his face into
the flannel folds of a foul-scented shirt.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253