Bruce Standing, wiping the blood from his eyes, his two arms out before him, came back to the attack. Deveril, on his knees, surged to his feet; Standing struck and Deveril went down like a poorly balanced timber falling. Lynette was groping for another stone. Suddenly she felt upon her wrist a grip like a circlet of cutting steel. She was whisked about; Timber-Wolf held her, drawn close, staring face into face. His other hand was lifted slowly; suddenly she felt it caught in her loose hair....
And then, inexplicable to her now and ever after, there was in her ear the sound of Bruce Standing's laughter. The hand at her hair fell away. It went up to his eyes, wiping them clear. And then she saw in the eyes what she had read in the voice ... laughter.
"Well, Deveril, what now?"
Again Deveril was on his feet. He swayed; his face was dead-white; it was easy to see how fiercely he bent every energy at his command to remain upright. There was a queer look in the eyes he turned upon Timber-Wolf.
"I never saw a man ... like you."
He spoke with effort; he was like a man far gone in some devastating lung trouble; his voice was windy and vibrant and weak.
"Baby Devil!" jeered Standing. "Oh, Baby Devil! And, when it comes to dealing with a real man.... Why, then, less devil than baby! Ho!..."
"I am going to kill you...."
"God aids the righteous!" Standing told him sternly. "You go. To hell with you and your kind."