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The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from The Call of the Wild by Jack London: the grip of Death, the fall pack at Buck's heels raised a hell's
chorus of delight.
Buck did not cry out. He did not check himself, but drove in upon
Spitz, shoulder to shoulder, so hard that he missed the throat.
They rolled over and over in the powdery snow. Spitz gained his
feet almost as though he had not been overthrown, slashing Buck
down the shoulder and leaping clear. Twice his teeth clipped
together, like the steel jaws of a trap, as he backed away for
better footing, with lean and lifting lips that writhed and
snarled.
In a flash Buck knew it. The time had come. It was to the death.
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