[Valuelist-users] mass of hair by which, once on a time, the very school-gir

[Chinnery <unt...@bo...>]

Erceived his danger. Directly in front of him stood his adversary, his
knees firmly bent, masked, as it were, behind his rapier, his whole
strength resolutely collected for one supreme effort. His eyes had a
singular glitter, and the calf of his left leg quivered perceptibly
under the excessive tension of the muscles. This time, in order to avoid
the shock of his opponent's impetus, Andrea determined to throw himself
to one side and repeat the thrust which Cassibile had employed so
successfully, the white patch of lint on Rutolo's breast serving him as
a mark. It was there he proposed wounding him again, but, this time, the
rapier should enter the intercostal space and not be deterred by the
rib. The silence all about them deepened, the spectators felt the
homicidal desire that animated the two men, and were seized with
apprehension, their hearts sinking at the thought that doubtless they
would have to carry away a dead or dying man. The sun, veiled by fleecy
cloudlets, shed a milky light over the scene, the trees rustled
fitfully, the thrush sang on invisible. 'Play!' Rutolo charged his
adversary with a double derobe. Sperelli parried and returned, giving
way a step. Rutolo followed up furiously with a rush of rapid thrusts,
nearly all in the low line, without uttering the usual cries. Sperelli,
nothing daunted by this onslaught, and wishing to avoid an actual
hand-to-hand fight, parried vigorously, and returned with such
directness that he might, had he so wished, have run his adversary
through the body each time. Rutolo's leg was bleeding near the groin.
'Halt!' cried Santa Margherita the moment he perceived it. But in the
same instant Sperelli, parrying low quarte and not encountering his
adversary's blade, received a thrus