"I stopped a bullet with my forearm!"
She was sitting in a sort of improvised chair between two dwarfed tree-trunks, and if ever I saw a proud young woman that was she. She wore the bloody bandage like a prize diploma.
"And I've seen your friend Monty, and he's better than the accounts of him!"
I glanced at Will, alert for a sign of jealousy.
"Monty is the one best bet!" he said. And his eyes were generous and level, as a man's who tells the whole truth.
Chapter Fourteen "Rajput, I shall hang you if you make more trouble!"
"LO, THIS IS THE MAN—"
(Psalm 52)
Choose, ye forefathers of to-morrow, choose!
These easy ways there be
Uncluttered by the wrongs each other bears,
And warmly we shall walk who can not see
How thin some other fellow's garment wears,
Nor need to notice whose.
Choose, ye stock-owners in to-morrow, choose!
The road these others tread
Is littered deep with jetsam and the bones
Of their dishonored dead.
What altruism for defeat atones?
Have ye not much to lose?
Choose, ye inheritors of ages, choose!
What owe ye to the past?
The burly men who Magna Charta wrung
From tyranny entrenched would stand aghast
To see the ripples from that stone they flung,
They, too, had selfish views.