He might have stood for one of those
northern barbarians whom the Romans loved to pit against their native
champions in the arena. He was the greater because of the opponent he
faced, and it was upon this opponent that the eyes of Father
Anthony centered.
Like Father Victor, he was caught first by the bright hair. It was a
dark red, and where the light struck it strongly there were places
like fire. Down from this hair the light slipped like running water
over a lithe body, slender at the hips, strong-chested, round and
smooth of limb, with long muscles leaping and trembling at every move.
He, like the big fighter, circled cautiously about, but the impression
he gave was as different from the other as day is from night. His head
was carried high; in place of a scowl, he smiled with a sort of
eagerness, a light which was partly exultation and partly mischief
sparkled in his eyes. Once or twice the giant caught at the other, but
David slipped from under the grip of Goliath easily. It seemed as if
his skin were oiled.
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