His lips moved. For one
blessed moment it seemed that he was going to speak. But he
scrambled up in silence, remembering everything, and he made
not towards Philip, but towards the lamp.
"Do what you like; but think first--"
The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the
loggia. It broke against one of the trees below. Philip
began to cry out in the dark.
Gino approached from behind and gave him a sharp pinch.
Philip spun round with a yell. He had only been pinched on
the back, but he knew what was in store for him. He struck
out, exhorting the devil to fight him, to kill him, to do
anything but this. Then he stumbled to the door. It was
open. He lost his head, and, instead of turning down the
stairs, he ran across the landing into the room opposite.
There he lay down on the floor between the stove and the
skirting-board.
His senses grew sharper. He could hear Gino coming in
on tiptoe. He even knew what was passing in his mind, how
now he was at fault, now he was hopeful, now he was
wondering whether after all the victim had not escaped down
the stairs. There was a quick swoop above him, and then a
low growl like a dog's. Gino had broken his finger-nails
against the stove.
Physical pain is almost too terrible to bear. We can
just bear it when it comes by accident or for our good--as it
generally does in modern life--except at school. But when it
is caused by the malignity of a man, full grown, fashioned
like ourselves, all our control disappears.
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