'You are the man whose horse I used to hold before the Bowyer's
door? You are that man? Speak!'
'Out, you 'prentice hound!' said the other.
'You are he! I know you well now!' cried Graham. 'Let no man step
between us two, or I shall be his murderer.' With that he drew his
dagger, and rushed in upon him.
The stranger had drawn his weapon from the scabbard ready for the
scrutiny, before a word was spoken. He made a thrust at his
assailant, but the dagger which Graham clutched in his left hand
being the dirk in use at that time for parrying such blows,
promptly turned the point aside. They closed. The dagger fell
rattling on the ground, and Graham, wresting his adversary's sword
from his grasp, plunged it through his heart. As he drew it out it
snapped in two, leaving a fragment in the dead man's body.
All this passed so swiftly that the bystanders looked on without an
effort to interfere; but the man was no sooner down than an uproar
broke forth which rent the air. The attendant rushing through the
gate proclaimed that his master, a nobleman, had been set upon and
slain by a citizen; the word quickly spread from mouth to mouth;
Saint Paul's Cathedral, and every book-shop, ordinary, and smoking-
house in the churchyard poured out its stream of cavaliers and
their followers, who mingling together in a dense tumultuous body,
struggled, sword in hand, towards the spot.
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