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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"Flames"

Then the doctor went to a corner of the room
and took down from a hook a whip with a heavy thong.
"I haven't had to use this since they were both puppies," he said, with
a side glance at the dogs. "Now, Addison, keep hold of Mab and go in
front of me down the servants' stairs. If the dogs once get out of hand
we shall have trouble in the house to-night."
The door was opened, and then a veritable affray began. The animals
seemed half mad. They tore at their collars, and struggled furiously
to break loose, snarling and even snapping, their great heads turned in
the direction of the dining-room. The doctor, firmest as well as kindest
of men, recognized necessity, and used the whip unsparingly, lashing the
animals through the door to the servants' quarters, and down the stairs.
It was a violent procession to the lower regions. Julian could not get it
out of his head. Entangled among the leaping dogs on the narrow stairway,
he had a sense of whirling in the eddies of a stream, driven from this
side to the other. His arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets. The
shriek of the lash curling over and around the dogs, the dim vision of
the doctor's compressed lips and eyes full of unaccustomed fire, the
damp foam on his hands as he rocked from one wall to the other, amid a
dull music of growls, and fierce, low barks, came back to him now as he
trimmed the sails to catch the undecided winds, or felt the tiller leap
under his hold.


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