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"I don't want it," he said, trying a pleasant smile that twitched and
failed.
The thickset man advanced his face, and the bread became a physical
threat in his hand. Denton's mind rushed together to the one problem of
his antagonist's eyes.
"
Eat it," said the swart man.
There came a pause, and then they both moved quickly. The cube of bread
described a complicated path, a curve that would have ended in Denton's
face; and then his fist hit the wrist of the hand that gripped it, and
it flew upward, and out of the conflict--its part played.
He stepped back quickly, fists clenched and arms tense. The hot, dark
countenance receded, became an alert hostility, watching its chance.
Denton for one instant felt confident, and strangely buoyant and serene.
His heart beat quickly. He felt his body alive, and glowing to the tips.
"Scrap, boys!" shouted some one, and then the dark figure had leapt
forward, ducked back and sideways, and come in again. Denton struck out,
and was hit. One of his eyes seemed to him to be demolished, and he felt
a soft lip under his fist just before he was hit again--this time under
the chin. A huge fan of fiery needles shot open. He had a momentary
persuasion that his head was knocked to pieces, and then something hit
his head and back from behind, and the fight became an uninteresting, an
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