I struggled valiantly, but against such a man of brute strength I was
powerless. He held my throat, causing me excruciating pain, and each
moment I felt my chance of victory grow smaller. My strength was
failing. While I held his arms at his sides, I could keep him secure
without much effort, but now with his fingers pressing in my windpipe I
could not breathe.
I was slowly being strangled.
To be vanquished meant imprisonment there, perhaps even death. Victory
meant Elma's life, as well as my own. Mine was therefore a fight for
life. A sudden idea flashed across my mind, and I continued to struggle,
at the same time gradually forcing my enemy backward towards the door.
He shouted for help, but was unheard. He cursed and swore and shouted
until, with a sudden and almost superhuman effort, I tripped him,
bringing his head into such violent contact with the stone lintel of the
door that the sound could surely be heard a considerable distance. For a
moment he was stunned, and in that brief second I released his grip from
my throat and hurled him backwards beyond the door.
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