He fought wildly and even weakly, and he constantly looked away at the railway line, almost as if he feared the train more than the pointed steel.

Syme, on the other hand, fought fiercely but still carefully, in an intellectual fury, eager to solve the riddle of his own bloodless sword.

For this purpose, he aimed less at the Marquis's body, and more at his throat and head.

A minute and a half afterwards he felt his point enter the man's neck below the jaw.
It came out clean.

Half mad, he thrust again, and made what should have been a bloody scar on the Marquis's cheek.