"Oho! You are strong too? You gentlemen live well: you have strength. The ox is also strong, and yet the wolf pulls him down."
And with renewed passion he threw himself on Lorand.
But Lorand did not allow him to come close enough to grasp his wrist. He was a practised wrestler, and was able to keep his opponent an arm's length away.
"So you won't let me come near you? You won't let me kiss you, eh? Won't let me bite out a little piece of your beautiful face?"
The wild creature stretched out his neck in his effort to get at Lorand.
The struggle was desperate. Lorand was aided by the freshness of his youthful strength, his sang froid, and practised skill: the robber's strength was redoubled by passion, his muscles were tough, and his attacks impetuous, unexpected, and surprising like those of some savage beast.
Neither uttered a sound. Lorand did not call for help, thinking his cries might bring the robbers back: and Kandur was afraid the house party might come out.
Or perhaps neither thought of any such thing: each was occupied with the idea of overthrowing his opponent with his own hand.
Kandur merely muttered through his teeth, though his passion did not deter his devilish humor. Lorand did not say a single word.
The place was ill-adapted for such a struggle.