He jerked her close to him. Her weak, idiotic face sickened him, but her womanness got him. He turned her slowly stiffening body and crushed her close to him.
Then suddenly, like a released spring, she was gone from him. Her strength completely staggered him. He had had her gripped tightly, then his arms were powerless against the sudden heaving twist of her body. She sprang away, without looking back; she ran mumbling into the woods.
Dillon made no attempt to follow her. He just stood watching her, a feeling of sick frustration creeping over him. When she had vanished and the last sound of her flight faded away, he moved a little uncertainly, as if to pursue her. Then he stopped. Roxy was standing in the clearing, his face white, and his eyes gleaming dangerously.
“I saw you,” Roxy said. “You rotten louse.”
All Dillon’s pent-up fury became centered on Roxy. Here was someone on whom he could wreak his rage. He began sliding across the grass, his eyes gleaming.
Roxy slipped off his coat. He let it fall at his feet. “I warned you once about that,” he said through his teeth. “Now I guess I gotta hammer it home.”
He came at Dillon with startling speed. Dillon didn’t bother to protect himself. He had too much confidence in his own strength. He swung a long raking left at Roxy’s head as he came in, but Roxy shifted a little, not stopping his rush, and Dillon’s fist sailed over his shoulder.
Roxy got in close and hit Dillon in the body with two heavy blows. Dillon went crazy and missed with his wild swings.
Roxy kept stepping in and out. Every time he stepped in his fist thudded into Dillon, and when he stepped out Dillon missed him with a swing.
Dillon tried to get in close and wrestle, but Roxy kept going away, letting him have it as he rushed in. Dillon was getting a fearful lacing, but he didn’t feel much; he was too mad to feel anything. Roxy hit him twice on the jaw as hard as he could. The blows sent Dillon’s head back, but it didn’t stop him.