with the deadly "drawing" motion on it, would meet the case nicely.
Swinging it to the left, the Colonel subconsciously placed the sword,
"resting flat on the left shoulder, edge to the left, hand in front of
the shoulder and square with the elbow, elbow as high as the hand," as
per drill-book, and delivered a lightning stroke--thinking as he did
so that the Afghan _tulwar_ is an uncommonly well-balanced, handy
cutting-weapon, though infernally small in the hilt.

The snake's head fell with a thud upon the polished boards between the
tiger-skins, and the body dropped writhing and twitching on to the
settee.

Damocles appeared to be dead. Picking him up, the callous-hearted
father strode out to where Khodadad Khan held "Fire's" bridle, handed
him to the orderly, mounted, received him again from the man, and,
holding him in his strong right arm, cantered to the bungalow of Major
John Decies--since it lay on the road to the parade-ground.

Would the jerking hurt the little beggar in his present comatose
state? Well, brats that couldn't stand a little jerking were better
dead, especially when they screamed and threw fits at the sight of a
common snake.

Turning into Major Decies' compound and riding up to his porch, the
Colonel saw the object of his search, arrayed in pyjamas, seated in
his long cane chair beside a tray of tea, toast, and fruit, in the
verandah.

"Morning, de Warrenne," he cried cheerily.