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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Courage of Marge O'Doone"

Perhaps her fears had been grossly
exaggerated. The exchange of gold between Hauck and the Red Brute had
probably been for something else. Even men engulfed in the brutality of
the trade they were in would not think of such an appalling crime. And
then--with a fierceness that made his blood boil--came the thought of
that time when Brokaw had caught her in his arms, and had held her head
back until it _hurt_--and had kissed her! Baree had crept between his
knees, and David's fingers closed so tightly in the loose skin of his
neck that the dog whined. He rose to his feet and stood gazing down at
the girl. He stood there for a long time without moving or making a
sound.
"A little woman," he whispered to himself at last. "Not a child."
From that moment his blood was hot with a desire to reach the Nest. He
had never thought seriously of physical struggle with men except in the
way of sport. His disposition had always been to regard such a thing as
barbarous, and he had never taken advantage of his skill with the gloves
as the average man might very probably have done. To fight was to lower
one's self-respect enormously, he thought. It was not a matter of
timidity, but of very strong conviction--an entrenchment that had saved
him from wreaking vengeance--in the hour when another man would have
killed.


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