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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"


"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "What has happened?"
Her voice seemed to recall me instantly, to restore my numbed faculties.
"Why, really I hardly know," I answered, yet stepping back to grip the
ropes. "The fellow had hold of your dress, did n't he?"
"Yes, oh! I was so frightened, and--and then he jerked me horribly."
"That was when I hit him. I must have got the big brute just right.
He fell back as if he had been pole-axed, crashed into the rail, and
went overboard."
She looked down into the swirl beneath, clutching the edge of the boat
with her hands.
"Is--is he down there--in the water? Do you--you suppose he is
drowned?"
"I don't see what else he could be. I did n't mean to kill him; just
to knock him out, but I don't believe he had any swim left by the time
he hit the water."
"I--I cannot bear to think of it!"
"Now see here," I said, coming back to my senses. "This is all
foolishness, and losing us time. I 'm not sorry he is out of the way;
it was either his life or ours. He was a big, lawless brute, a
murderer at heart, if he was n't in deed. Now there is all the more
reason for us to hurry. Have you got the knife?"
"Yes."
"Then get hold of that stern rope; I am going to lower away.


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