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. I
remembered then that my being there was my own choice.
"Come on, Luke!" I yelled. "Flatten him!"
This produced a very odd effect. Immediately, Dalt's torchbearers began
shouting encouragement to him. Our voices must have carried though the
wind's lulls, for shortly there came waves of sound, which I at first took
to be some distant part of the storm and only later realized to be shouting
coming from both lines. Only Julian remained silent, inscrutable.
Luke continued to circle Dalt, throwing jabs and trying occasional
combinations, and Dalt kept swatting away at them and trying to catch an
arm. Both of them had blood on their faces and both seemed a bit slower than
they had been earlier. I'd a feeling they'd both been hurt, though it was
impossible to guess to what extent. Luke had opened a small cut high on
Dalt's left cheek. Both of their faces were beginning to look puffy.
Luke connected with another body combination, but it was hard to say
how much force there was behind the blows. Dalt took them stoically and
found extra energy somewhere to rush forward and attempt to grapple. Luke
was slow in withdrawing and Dalt managed to draw him into a clinch. Both
tried kneeing the other; both turned their hips and avoided it. They kept
tangling arms and twisting as Dalt continued reaching after a better grip
and Luke kept defeating the efforts while attempting to free an arm wind get
in a punch
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