"Come—the kiss!" cried Austin, endeavouring to pass his arm familiarly round the Amazon's waist. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours.
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