They shifted from beneath it instinctively, but they fought deliriously on.
And at that the man with the whip completely lost his self-control.

He set to work to thrash and thrash the fighting animals till one or other of them--or himself--should become exhausted.
It developed into a horrible competition organized and conducted by the man's blind fury, and in what fashion it would have ended it would be hard to say.

But, luckily for all three, there came at length an interruption.

Someone--a woman--came swiftly out of the Vicarage garden carrying a bedroom jug.

She advanced without a pause upon the seething, infuriated group.
"It's no good beating them," she said, in a voice which, though somewhat hurried, was one of clear command.