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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Bring that machine gun, and what small arms you have. I think things are going to get sort of rough in Port Sandor, in the next twenty or so hours." I was beginning to think so, myself. The men who had gotten off the Helldiver, and the ones who got off Corkscrew Finnegan's Dirty Gertie and Nip Spazoni's Bulldog were all talking about what was going to have to be done about Steve Ravick.
And, in the great halls hung with tapestry and filled with pictures which the conquerors had respected, before those portraits of magnates superb in their robes of red or green velvet edged with fur, curved sabres by their sides and aigrettes upon their heads, all reproducing a common trait of rough frankness, with their long moustaches, their armor and their hussar uniforms Marsa Laszlo, who knew them well, these heroes of her country, these Zilah princes who had fallen upon the field of battle, said to the last of them all, to Andras Zilah, before Ferency Zilah, before Sandor, before the Princesses Zilah who had long slept in "dull, cold marble," and who had been no prouder than she of the great name they bore: "Do you know the reason why, equal to these in devotion and courage, you are superior to them all!
Of course, there isn't any paper connected with it, except the pad the editor doodles on. What gets to the public is photoprint, out of a teleprinter. As small as our circulation is, we have four or five hundred of them in Port Sandor and around among the small settlements in the archipelago, and even on the mainland.
Each knew that once action was joined, events would most likely progress quickly. The Bowie knife was not built for finesse. Like a flash, Sándor Rákóczi darted in, his blade flicked, he leapt back, instantly on guard again. There was a streak of red down Joe's arm. Joe blinked. Somebody, General Armstrong, or was it Max? had said there was something freakish about this Hungarian.
Andras's father, Prince Sandor, educated by a French tutor who had been driven from Paris by the Revolution, was the first of all his family to form any perception of a civilization based upon justice and law, and not upon the almighty power of the sabre. The liberal education which he had received, Prince Sandor transmitted to his son.
"Get him aboard as fast as we can, and get out of here with him. Walt, you're coming along, aren't you?" That was what we'd agreed, while Glenn Murell was still the famous travel-book author. I wanted to get out of it, now. There wouldn't be anything happening aboard the Javelin, and a lot happening here in Port Sandor.
No man, not even Georgei, the Spartanlike soldier, nor the illustrious Kossuth, was more popular in 1849, at the time of the struggle against Austria, than Prince Sandor Zilah and his son, then a handsome boy of sixteen, but strong and well built as a youth of twenty.
They were not listened to, and one evening, the negotiations proving futile, Count Batthyanyi said to Jellachich: "We shall soon meet again upon the Drave!" "No," responded the Ban of Croatia, "I will go myself to seek you upon the Danube!" This was war; and Prince Sandor went, with his son, to fight bravely for the old kingdom of St. Stephen against the cannon and soldiers of Jellachich.
There are a lot of good poker players in Port Sandor, but Professor Jan Hartzenbosch is not one of them. The look of disappointment would have been comical if it hadn't been so utterly pathetic. He'd been hoping to lasso Murell himself. "I wonder if Mr. Murell could spare time to come to the school and speak to the students," he said, after a moment. "I'm sure he could.
Leaving his country with the emigration, he had shared the exile of Count Teleki, Sandor and others; then passed some time at Guernsey, where he knew Victor Hugo. He had afterward performed with brilliant success in London, Hamburg, etc., and his renown, after his return to Hungary, went on increasing.
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