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Updated: June 21, 2025
Masterfully, or die. For now their all-in-all lay just in that grim, steel-hard sense of mastery. Before the girl's eyes a sort of haze seemed forming. Her heart beat thick and heavy. Stern's counting sounded very far away and strange; she hardly recognized his voice.
It's all leaked out there's not a quart left in the tank! We're lost lost in the bottomless abyss!" At realization of the ghastly situation that confronted them, Stern's heart stopped beating for a moment. Despite his courage, a sick terror gripped his soul; he felt a sudden weakness, and in his ears the rushing wind seemed shouting mockeries of death.
My hair is burned and my flesh blistered with her fire-beating! But when I hold her in these hands then she shall pay for all, the vuedma!" Stern's hand twitched, with the automatic gripped in the fingers, but the blacksmith cried a warning. "Raise not that hand, slave!" he ordered. "You cannot shoot without the danger of killing this vile spawn of yours!
Stern and Beatrice now stood on a different footing; their friendship, comradeship and love were based on the tacit recognition of absolute equality, save for Stern's accidental physical superiority.
At the back of Stern's brain still lurked a haunting fear of the wood, of what the assegai-point might portend, but he dispelled it. "Well, come along down," bade he. "It's getting late, already. But first, we must take just one more look, by this fresh morning light, from the platform up above, there?" She assented readily.
Thus to be detained, inspected and seemingly made mock of by a creature no more than three-quarters human, stung the engineer to rage. "What do you want?" cried he, in a thick and unsteady voice. "Anything I can do for you? If not, I'll be going." The creature shook its head. Yet something of Stern's meaning may have won to its smoldering intelligence. For now it raised a hand.
A blue and flickering gleam of light, dim, yet persistent, seemed to enhalo a woman's face; and as Stern's weary eyes opened under languid lids, closed, then opened again, the wounded engineer smiled in his weakness. "Beatrice!" he whispered, and tried to stretch a hand to her, as she sat beside his bed of seaweed covered with the coarse brown fabric. "Oh, Beatrice!
Warmth, wetness, and a knowledge of great weakness these, joined with a singular lassitude, oppression of the lungs and stifling of the breath, were Allan Stern's sensations when conscious life returned. Pain there was as well. His body felt sorely bruised and shaken.
Stern's car, a closed-in runabout in which both the doctor and his chauffeur were sheltered from inclement weather. The chauffeur was lounging on the pavement, smoking a cigarette, and Fenley, of course, recognized him. His heart leaped. Let him be bold now, and he might win through.
Now that writing had been lost, nothing retarded changes; and Stern realized that here were he a trained philologist lay a task incomparably interesting and difficult, to learn this Merucaan speech and trace its development from his own tongue. But Stern's skill was all in other lines.
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