Sean-or perhaps it was the liquor he had drunk that twisted his
emotions, aggravated his sense of loss and frustration and channelled
it into this insane outburst of hatred.
Suddenly it seemed to Sean that here before him on the ground was the
source of all his ills-this was the man who had taken Ruth from him.
'You bastard!' he growled. The man sensed the change in Sean and
scrambled to his feet, his face turning desperately from side to side
as he sought an avenue of escape.
'You filthy bastard! ' Sean's voice rose, shrill with the strength of
this new emotion. For the first time in his life Sean craved to kill.
He advanced upon the man slowly, his fists opening and closing, his
face contorted and the words that spilled from his mouth no longer
making sense.
A great stillness had fallen upon the yard. In the shadows the
watchers stood, chilled with the dreadful fascination of it. The man
was frozen also, only his head moved and no sound came from his open
lips-and Sean closed in with the weaving motion of a cobra in
erection.
At the last moment the man tried to run, but his legs were slack and
heavy with fear-and Sean hit him in the chest with a sound like an axe
swung against a tree-trunk.
As he fell Sean went in after him, straddling his chest, roaring
incoherently with only a single word recognizable-the name of the woman
he loved. In his madness he felt the man's face breaking up under his
fists, felt the warm spatter of blood thrown into his own face and on
to his arms, and heard the shouts of the crowd.
'He'll kill him!'
'Get him off ' 'For Chrissake give me a hand-he's as strong as a bloody
OX. Their hands upon him, an arm locked around his throat from behind,
the shock as someone hit him with a bottle, the press of their bodies
as they swarmed over him.
With men clinging to him, two of them riding his back and a dozen
others on his arms and legs, Sean came to his feet.
' Pull his legs out from under him. ' 'Get him down, man. Get him
down.
With a convulsive heave Sean swung the men on his arms into violent
collision with each other. They released him.
He kicked his right leg free, and those on his other leg let go and
scattered. Reaching over his shoulders he plucked the men off his back
and stood alone, his chest swelling and subsiding as he breathed, the
blood from the bottle gash in his scalp trickling down his face and
soaking into his beard.
'Get a gun!' someone shouted.
'There's a shotgun under the bar.' But no one left the circle that
ringed him in, and Sean glared around at them his eyes staring wildly
from the plane of glistening blood that was his face.
'You've killed him!' a voice accused him. And the words reached Sean
through the madness, his body relaxed slightly and he tried to wipe
away the blood with the open palm of his hand. They saw the change in
