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But Beowulf Longed only for fame, leaped back Into battle.
she drew A dagger, brown with dried blood, and prepared To avenge her only son.
He drew the giant sword, From its scabbarda, broke the chain on its hilt , And then, savage, now, angry And desperate, lifted it high over his head And struck with all the strength he had left, Caught her in the neck and cut it through, Broke bones and all.
Her body fell To the floor, lifeless, the sword was wet With her blood, and Beowulf rejoiced at the sight.
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