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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"

"
"Come with me!"
The Master turned and left the sick-bay. Alden rose, weakly enough,
and followed him. As the door opened and closed again, the engines
hummed louder, then sank again to their dull murmur. Bohannan remained
with the doctor.
"Well, faith, can you beat that?" exclaimed the major. "There's an
Ethiopian in the woodpile, sure enough. Something strange, here, I'm
thinking! Something damned strange here!"
"Is there anything here that _isn't_?" asked Lombardo, with an odd
laugh, as he turned back to the cot where lay the dying New Zealander.
Alone in his cabin with Captain Alden, the Master faced the
insubordinate member of his crew with an expression of hard
implacability. The captain stood there determinedly confronting him.
His right hand held to the table for support. His left sleeve was
sodden with blood; the left arm, thrust into the breast of his coat,
was obviously numbed, paralyzed.
"Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?" coldly demanded the
Master.
"I repeat that I cannot--and will not--submit myself to any medical
attention from any member of this expedition."
"This is dangerous ground you're treading!" the Master exclaimed.


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