There was not a moment for her to do more than give a sort of
shrieking, despairing command, "Down, Kirby!" when, just as the beast
was springing on her, his throat was seized by the powerful hands
that alone could have grappled with him, and the terrible head,
foaming, and making horrid choking growls, was swung round from her,
and the dog lifted by the back of the neck in the air, struggling and
kicking violently.
Everyone had given back; Hippolyta had thrown herself on Eustace, who
drew her back, crowding on us, into the porch; Harold, still holding
the dog at arm's length, made his voice heard in steady tones, "Will
some one give me my other glove?"
One hand, that which grasped the dog, was gloved, but the free hand
was bare, and it was Dora who first understood, saw the glove at his
feet, sprang to his side, and held it up to him, while he worked his
hand into it, and she pulled it on for him. Then he transferred his
grasp from one hand to the other, and in that moment the powerful
bloodhound made a desperate struggle, and managed to get one paw on
the ground, and writhe itself round so as to fly at his face and make
its teeth actually meet in his beard, a great mouthful of which it
tore out, and we saw it champing the hairs, as he again swung it up,
so that it could only make frantic contortions with its body and
legs, while he held it at arm's length with the iron strength of his
wrists.
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