But for the soft whir of wings there was no sound in the room.

Taffy could scarcely believe they were fighting in earnest.

For a moment they seemed to touch--to touch and no more, and for a moment only--but in that moment the stroke was given.

The home champion fluttered down, stood on his legs for a moment, as if nothing had happened, then toppled over and lay twitching, as his conqueror strutted over him and lifted his throat to crow.
Squire Moyle rose, clutching the corner of his chair.

His mouth opened and shut, but no words came.