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 With a false blot that a few days washed off. A trifle now, but a boy's honor then— Which then was everything. There were some words Between us, but I don't remember them. All I remember is a bursting flood Of half a year's accumulated hate, And his incredulous eyes before I struck him. He had gone once too far; and when he knew it, He knew it was all over; and I struck him. Pound for pound, he was the better brute; But bulking in the way then of my fist And all there was alive in me to drive it, Three of him misbegotten into one Would have gone down like him—and being larger, Might have bled more, if that were necessary.