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Burroughs, Edgar Rice, 1875-1950

"Son of Tarzan"

"
"Oh, hell," cried Malbihn. "What's the use? They'll be glad enough
to have her back, and by the time we get there with her she'll be
only too glad to keep her mouth shut. Why not?"
"Because I say not," growled Jenssen. "I've always let you
boss things, Sven; but here's a case where what I say has got to
go--because I'm right and you're wrong, and we both know it."
"You're getting damned virtuous all of a sudden," growled Malbihn.
"Perhaps you think I have forgotten about the inn keeper's daughter,
and little Celella, and that nigger at--"
"Shut up!" snapped Jenssen. "It's not a matter of virtue and you
are as well aware of that as I. I don't want to quarrel with you,
but so help me God, Sven, you're not going to harm this girl if I
have to kill you to prevent it. I've suffered and slaved and been
nearly killed forty times in the last nine or ten years trying to
accomplish what luck has thrown at our feet at last, and now I'm
not going to be robbed of the fruits of success because you happen
to be more of a beast than a man. Again I warn you, Sven--" and
he tapped the revolver that swung in its holster at his hip.


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