"Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed. . With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. " "What's he know about copra and native talk?" "Nothing, probably; but I'll wager he'll pick it all up fast enough.
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