Back I drove him pace by pace, his wrist growing weaker at each parry, each parry growing wider, and the perspiration streaming down his ashen face.

Panting he went, in that backward flight before my onslaught, defending himself as best he could, never thinking of a riposte--beaten already.

Back, and yet back he went, until he reached the railings and could back no farther, and so broken was his spirit then that a groan escaped him.

I answered with a laugh--my mood was lusty and cruel--and thrust at him.

Then, eluding his guard, I thrust again, beneath it, and took him fairly in the middle of his doublet.
He staggered, dropped his rapier, and caught at the railings, where for a moment he hung swaying and gasping.