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With a head-gear, especially made for him, Dana settled down in his regular position, ready for the charge, anticipating the oncoming Yale halfback and throbbing with eagerness to tackle the man with the ball. Then he plunged forward, both arms extended, but handicapped by his terrible injury, he toppled over upon his face, heart-broken.
Her next awareness was that she was blissfully free of pain, and she spent several minutes enjoying something she had taken for granted before. Then she heard the room's door open and stirred herself to look toward it. The one who came in was a Sandeman, a warriors'-woman from the gold-gemmed ring she wore; Dana inclined her head in the closest she could come to a bow.
Dana hesitated, but she had spent so long trying to be Sandeman in all but body that her response was more by reflex than by thought. "I claim none, Alanna," she said formally. "Custom says none exist." "True." Killian's expression became remote, almost frightening. "Very well, I accept the responsibility of acting for the clan-chief you do not have.
To any one not desperately time-poor this trip should have four days instead of three; camping the second night at the Soda Springs; thence to Mount Dana and return to the Soda Springs, camping the third night there; thence by the Sunrise trail to Cathedral Peak, visiting the beautiful Cathedral lake which lies about a mile to the west of Cathedral Peak, eating your luncheon, and thence to Clouds' Rest and the Valley as above.
He had a pair of light-brown eyes, a short straight nose, a nice mouth and a rather sharp chin. His face was tanned, and slightly freckled as well, and he was tall for his age. His full name was Stephen Dana Edwards. His companion was an inch shorter, a little heavier in build, although quite as well-conditioned physically, and was lighter in colouring.
The leader gave a hand signal, and his men surrounded Jason. He grunted and swore at them, his voice holding a mixture of disgusted anger and pain. "NO!" Dana shouted, jumping on the back of one man and wrapping her left arm around his throat, her right hand against the back of his head, her left reaching for her right elbow for a neck-breaking hold.
"Will you tell me, Larson," he asked, "why in the name of Heaven, if you could do that, you didn't do it yesterday?" "I couldn't do it yesterday," she said. "Dana taught me." "Taught you!" he echoed. "Beginning after last night's rehearsal?... Dane!" he called to Rose, who had been watching a little anxiously to see what would happen.
"She is a Vandal, Arlt; but the world will be at her musicale, they tell me; and you will find it a good place to make your bow to an American public. Mrs. Dana told me, over in Berlin, that Mrs. Lloyd Avalons gave the best private recitals in New York." "What does she know about music?" Arlt grumbled.
Even the nurses, stoically unmindful of bodily discomfort, spoke curtly or not at all. Miss Dana, in Sidney's ward, went down with a low fever, and for a day or so Sidney and Miss Grange got along as best they could.
Craig shook his head sententiously. Evidently he not prepared yet to talk. With another look at the body in the broken casket he remarked: "To-morrow I want to call on Mrs. Phelps and Doctor Forden, and, if it is possible to find him, Dana Phelps.
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