Amanda seized the fallen stick and whacked the dog she held,
reasonably but effectively until its yelps satisfied her. "There!"
she said pitching her victim from her, and stood erect again. She
surveyed the proceedings of her helper for the first time.
"You needn't," she said, "choke Sultan anymore."
"Ugh!" she said, as though that was enough for Sultan. And peace
was restored.
"I'm obliged to you. But-- . . . I say! He didn't bite you, did
he? Oh, SULTAN!"
Sultan tried to express his disgust at the affair. Rotten business.
When a fellow is fighting one can't be meticulous. And if people
come interfering. Still--SORRY! So Sultan by his code of eye and
tail.
"May I see? . . . Something ought to be done to this. . . ."
She took his wrist in her hand, and her cheek and eyelashes came
within a foot of his face.
Some observant element in his composition guessed, and guessed quite
accurately, that she was nineteen. . . .
2
She had an eyebrow like a quick stroke of a camel's-hair brush, she
had a glowing face, half childish imp, half woman, she had honest
hazel eyes, a voice all music, a manifest decision of character.
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