Had he spoken, had he moved so much as an eyelid, or drawn back his foot, or laid his hand on his hilt, I should have killed him there.

But he did not stir and I could not do it.

My hand dropped.

"Cowards!" I cried, glancing bitterly from him to them--they had never failed me before.
"Cowards!" I muttered, seeming to shrink into myself as I said the word.

And I flung my sword clattering on the floor.
"That is better!" he drawled quite unmoved, as if nothing more than words had passed, as if he had not been in peril at all.