Something white flashed this way and that, accompanied by the sound of low growls.

A dog fight was his first impression, and he was on the point of leaving, for, while he secretly enjoyed the sight of two physically perfect men waging battle, he had not the heart to see two brutes pitted against each other, goaded on by brutes of a lower caste.

But even as he turned the crowd opened and closed, and the brief picture was enough for him.
Her dog! And the students were beating it because they knew it to be defenseless.

Her dog! toothless and old, who could not hold when his jaws closed on an arm or leg, but who, with that indomitable courage of his race, fought on and on, hopelessly and stubbornly.
He was covered with blood, one of his legs was hurt, but still the spirit burned.

It was cowardly.