. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. She rang again with the same result.
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