Then, deliberately, as if he had planned to do it, as if it were an action he had decided upon after long consideration, he balled his fist and swung his arm.
It was a vicious blow, with all his weight and all his strength and anger back of it, and Herkimer went down like an ox beneath a hammer.
"Ash!" cried Eva. "Ash!"
She clutched at his arm, but he shook her off.
Herkimer was sitting up, his hands covering his face, blood dripping down between his fingers.
Sutton spoke to him. "I have not sold destiny. Nor do I intend to sell it. Although God knows, if I did, it would be no more than the lot of you deserve."
"Ash," said Eva softly. "Ash, we must be sure."
"How can I make you sure?" he asked. "I can only tell you."
"They are your people, Ash," she said. "Your race. Their greatness is your greatness, too. You can't blame Herkimer for thinking…"
"They're your people, too," said Sutton. "The taint that applies to me applies to you as well."