[CHAPTER VIII]
Never was any girl in all her life so grateful for a good, stiff boyish training as in that moment found herself Verbeena Mayonnaise!
She thought of all the swimmin’, rowin’, ridin’, boxin’, runnin’, fightin’, wrestlin’ she had done in the past with exultation. She even conjured up the long, sad face of Lord Tawdry with its sable curtains and experienced a wave of gratitude. In the nomenclature of Fate she felt that at this moment she had come Seven. Had not her life been one long, mystically symmetrical training for such a situation, such an emergency as this?
So he sat there lawffing at her, did he? He sat there making nasty eyes at her expecting her to quiescently quiver—that soon he would have her where he would be feeding her cigarettes from his hand.
She’d show this Shreik Amut with the molasses taffy hair and licorice whiskers a thing or two!
THE BIG SCENE IN WHICH VERBEENA WITH SPURS AND HATPIN TRIUMPHS OVER THE AWFUL SHEIK.
Yes, and three and four and five!