She yearned over me, almost as if I had been the son of her dreams.
"Boy, Jack, I'm glad it's over—so glad—so glad. I love you—and I've been afraid for you."
Desire of her, of the sweet brave spirit in its beautiful sheath of young flesh, surged up in my blood irresistibly.
I caught her to my heart and kissed the soft corn-silk hair, the deep melting eyes, the ripe red lips.
By Heaven, I had fought for her and had won her! She was the gift of love, won in stark battle from the best fighter I had ever met.
The mad Irish blood in me sang.
After all I am not the son of a filibuster for nothing.