She slipped her hand between them and grasped his erection. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. Like a hare closely pressed, Jack attempted to double, but the device only brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every direction, and rending the air with their shouts. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table.
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