Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. I am bored to distraction.
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