"None of that! I'm tired, but I'm stubborn. I'm not going back. I'm supposed to be sleeping soundly in my little bed. In the morning, before I'm supposed to be up, I'll issue a communique from—any old place; or tell 'em face to face. I won't mind that a little bit after everything's over. It's telling what's going to be and listening to talk about it that I won't have. I'm not up to it. Now you talk!"
"You're tired. Are you too tired to know your own mind?"
"No; just too tired to argue with it, fight it; and I'm free, white, and twenty-one; and I've read about the self-determination of small peoples."
"Say, aren't you afraid?"
"Don't be silly! Of course I'm afraid! What is that about perfect love casting out fear?—don't believe it! I'm scared to death—truly!"
"Go back till to-morrow."
"I won't! I've gone over all that."
"All right! Shove off!"
He led her to the ambushed Can, whose blemishes became all too apparent in the merciless light of the moon.
"What a lot of wound chevrons it has!" she exclaimed.