Grey was there with his second, and a dozen or more of his companions stood back in the shadow of the trees.
The young blood of Virginia had come out to see the trader punished.
During the few minutes while the seconds were busy pacing the course and arranging for the signal, I had no cognizance of the world around me.

I stood with abstracted eyes watching a grey squirrel in one of the branches, and trying to recall a line I had forgotten in a song.

There seemed to be two Andrew Garvalds that morning, one filled with an immense careless peace, and the other a weak creature who had lived so long ago as to be forgotten.

I started when Faulkner came to place me, and followed him without a word.

But as I stood up and saw Grey twenty paces off, turning up his wristbands and tossing his coat to a friend, I realized the business I had come on.