But even as he fell he
rose, and I felt a grip like steel on each ankle. Then there was a
snake-like bend on his part, and before I had time to think I was on my
face. His knees were astride my body, and gradually I felt them pushing
my arms up toward my neck. I felt a slight blow on the back of my head,
as though by the edge of the hand--light, delicate, gentle, but dreamy
in its results. Then I was half conscious of a hand pushing down my
head, of another hand reaching for my right wrist. It occurred to me in
a distant way that I was about to be beaten, subdued--I, John Cowles!
This had been done, as he had said of my own work with Singleton, as
much by the momentum of my own fall as by any great effort on his part.
As he had said regarding my own simple trick, the time of this was
perfect, though how far more difficult than mine, only those who have
wrestled with able men can understand.
For the first time in my life I found myself about to be mastered by
another man. Had he been more careful he certainly would have had the
victory over me. But the morning was warm, and we had worked for some
moments. My man stopped for a moment in his calm pinioning of my arms,
and perhaps raised his hand to brush his face or push back his hair.
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