this I had not seen in all my meetings with good men.

As we stepped about cautiously, seeking to engage again, his eye was
fixed on mine curiously, half contemplatively, but utterly without
concern or fear of any kind. I never saw an eye like his. It gave me not
fear, but horror! The more I encountered him, the more uncanny he
appeared. The lock of the arm at the back of the neck, those holds known
as the Nelson and the half-Nelson, and the ancient "hip lock," and the
ineffectual schoolboy "grapevine"--he would none of things so crude, and
slipped out of them like a snake. Continually I felt his hands, and
where he touched there was pain--on my forehead, at the edge of the eye
sockets, at the sides of my neck, in the middle of my back--whenever we
locked and broke I felt pain, and I knew that such assault upon the
nerve centers of a man's body might well disable him, no matter how
strong he was. But, as for him, he did not breathe the faster. It was
system with him. I say, I felt not fear only but a horror of him.

By chance I found myself with both hands on his arms, and I knew that no
man could break that hold when once set, for vast strength of forearm
and wrist was one of the inheritances of all men of the Cowles family. I
drew him steadily to me, pulled his head against my chest, and upended
him fair, throwing him this time at length across my shoulder. I was
sure I had him then, for he fell on his side. But even as he fell he
rose, and I felt a grip like steel on each ankle. Then there was a
snake-like bend on his part, and before I had time to think I was on my
face. His knees were astride my body, and gradually I felt them pushing
my arms up toward my neck. I felt a slight blow on the back of my head,
as though by the edge of the hand--light, delicate, gentle, but dreamy
in its results. Then I was half conscious of a hand pushing down my
head, of another hand reaching for my right wrist. It occurred to me in