Then for the first time in his dream, he felt angry, and the anger grew to rage, and the rage to quivering madness.

Next moment he had vaulted the fence, and sprang upon the walker from behind.

He dealt him blows with some hard instrument, belabouring his head, while with his left hand he throttled his throat so that he could not scream.

Only a few were necessary, for he knew that each blow went home, since all the savage youthful strength of shoulder and loose elbow directed them.

Then he withdrew his left hand from the throttled throat of the victim who had ceased to struggle, and like a log he fell back on to the grass, and Morris for the first time looked on his face.