For a moment man and boy hugged cheek to cheek.
Kit's legs were round the other's hips, his arms about the other's neck.
"Beast! don't bite!" he gurgled, as the man munched his shoulder; and the image of Gwen, who when hard-driven used her teeth effectively, rose before him.
The image faded. The man had the under-grip, and was squeezing his soul out. Another moment, and his ribs must go.
"Blob!" he choked.
A dark something shot through the door and shocked against the
Frenchman.
"Where'll Oi kill him?" asked a voice.
"Where you like," muttered Kit, swooning.
A hand rose and fell.
The man relaxed his grip. Kit could feel him fading and fading away, as the life oozed out of him. He was a-horse on Death.