I fisted him off by his
throat and he fastened his teeth in my right hand, tearing the
flesh down as I slipped the knife into my left hand. Then with
my left I jabbed sideways under his ribs, and his bite relaxed,
and he dropped.
"The embankment was steep. I ran down a little way and came to a
disused landing-stage--four or five planks on rotting piles.
Kneeling there, I lowered my bleeding hand, to bathe it.
. . . As I knelt the body of Farrell came floating down-stream
and was borne in towards me by the eddy. It lodged against the
piles, chest uppermost, its white, wide-open eyes turned up to
the moon.
"--And I stared on it, Roddy, crouching there. _And I swear to
God it was not Farrell's face but my own that I stared into_.
"Yes . . . for I stared and stared at it--there, plain, looking
up far beyond me, sightless--until a swirl of the tide washed it
clear; and, as it passed out into darkness, it seemed to be
sinking slowly, slowly.
"I dragged myself away and ran back to the dead dog.
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