In those moments he was conscious of nothing save a wild delirium of anger against the man who, beaten, yet resisted him, yet threw him his disdainful refusal to surrender even in the face of overwhelming defeat.
But the brief respite had given Tudor a transient renewal of strength.
Ere that terrible grip could wholly lock again, he made another frantic effort to free himself.

Spasmodic as it was, and wholly unconsidered, yet it had the advantage of being unexpected.

Piers shifted his hold, and in that instant Tudor found and gripped the edge of the table.

Sharply, with desperate strength, he dragged himself sideways, and before his adversary could prevent it he was over the edge.

He fell heavily, dragging Piers with him, struck his head with violence against the table-leg, and crumpled with the blow like an empty sack.
Piers found himself gripping a limp, inanimate object, and with a sudden sense of overpowering horror he desisted.