V.
BIMI TAL had danced up to us—Bimi Tal, daughter of Red Roane and of Dolores, the dancer.
She laughed and tossed her dark red hair. Her broad nostrils sucked in the hot night wind.
“I am the daughter of the morning!
I shout, I dance. I laugh away.
Follow, lover! Hear my warnings.
I, the laugher, do not stay....”
Stamp! Stamp! Stamp! Her body rippled. She cast her eyes at me.
Tain Dirk’s head was rising. His thin, dry, red lips opened wide. His golden eyes burned with undying hate. Tat! tat! tat! his fingers drummed.
“In a minute, Jerry,” whispered Bimi Tal, not pausing from her dance.
Her lovely eyes looked downward, seeing Dirk. She screamed. The music silenced. She struck her arm at him, not knowing what she did.
Mad! the Man was mad! His jaw was opened wide. He bit her arm above the wrist.
Before the rush of frantic people had fallen over us, I struck his venomous face. With both fists, blow on blow. Blood came from his damned lips.