Rods ahead her white body flashed, speeding toward the Pit.

Like fleet-footed Atalanta she fled--and far, far behind us was the blue bower, the misty barrier of the veils close, when Drake with a last desperate burst reached her side, gripped her.

Down the two fell, rolling upon the smooth roadway.
Silently she fought, biting, tearing at Drake, struggling to escape.
"Quick!" gasped Ventnor, stretching out to me an arm.

"Cut off the sleeve.

Quick!" Unquestioningly, I drew my knife, ripped the garment at the shoulder.