"clinch." Ponta was struggling to free himself, Joe was holding on.

The referee shouted, "Break!" Joe made an effort to get away, but Ponta
got one hand free and Joe rushed back into a second clinch, to escape the
blow. But this time, she noticed, the heel of his glove was pressed
against Ponta's mouth and chin, and at the second "Break!" of the
referee, Joe shoved his opponent's head back and sprang clear himself.

For a brief several seconds she had an unobstructed view of her lover.
Left foot a trifle advanced, knees slightly bent, he was crouching, with
his head drawn well down between his shoulders and shielded by them. His
hands were in position before him, ready either to attack or defend. The
muscles of his body were tense, and as he moved about she could see them
bunch up and writhe and crawl like live things under the white skin.

But again Ponta was upon him and he was struggling to live. He crouched
a bit more, drew his body more compactly together, and covered up with
his hands, elbows, and forearms. Blows rained upon him, and it looked to
her as though he were being beaten to death.

But he was receiving the blows on his gloves and shoulders, rocking back
and forth to the force of them like a tree in a storm, while the house
cheered its delight. It was not until she understood this applause, and
saw Silverstein half out of his seat and intensely, madly happy, and
heard the "Oh, you, Joe's!" from many throats, that she realized that
instead of being cruelly punished he was acquitting himself well. Then
he would emerge for a moment, again to be enveloped and hidden in the
whirlwind of Ponta's ferocity.