She had defended herself principally by maintaining a desperate,
murderous clutch on Ricardo's windpipe, till she felt a sudden
relaxation of the terrific hug in which he stupidly and ineffectually
persisted to hold her. Then with a supreme effort of her arms and of
her suddenly raised knee, she sent him flying against the partition.
The cedar-wood chest stood in the way, and Ricardo, with a thump which
boomed hollow through the whole bungalow, fell on it in a sitting
posture, half strangled, and exhausted not so much by the efforts as by
the emotions of the struggle.
With the recoil of her exerted strength, she too reeled, staggered back,
and sat on the edge of the bed. Out of breath, but calm and unabashed,
she busied herself in readjusting under her arms the brown and yellow
figured Celebes sarong, the tuck of which had come undone during the
fight. Then, folding her bare arms tightly on her breast, she leaned
forward on her crossed legs, determined and without fear.
Ricardo, leaning forward too, his nervous force gone, crestfallen like a
beast of prey that has missed its spring, met her big grey eyes looking
at him--wide open, observing, mysterious--from under the dark arches of
her courageous eyebrows. Their faces were not a foot apart. He ceased
feeling about his aching throat and dropped the palms of his hands
heavily on his knees.
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