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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"


"Finis, for _that_!" said he, and smiled strangely. "You aren't going
to be handicapped by any mask, in whatever struggle lies ahead of us.
If you get through to the world, and to life again, you get through as
a woman.
"If not, you die as one. But the disguise is done with, and gone. You
understand me!"
"Yes. I understand," she answered, and stood peering up at him. Not
even the white welts and ridges cut in her flesh by the long wearing
of the mask could make her face anything but very beautiful. Her
wonderful eyes mirrored far more, as they looked into this strange
man's, than would be easy to write down in words.
"I understand," she repeated. "If this is death, I couldn't have
dreamed or hoped for a better one. In that, at least, we can be
eternally together--you and I!"
Silence fell, save for the shuddering roar of the black river, that
rose with vapors from the dark pit. Man and woman, they searched out
each other's souls with their gaze.
Then all at once the Master took her hand, and brought it to his heart
and held it there. The lamp-shine, obliquely striking upward from the
floor, cast deep shadows over their faces; and these shadows seemed
symbolic of the shadows of death closing about them at this hour of
self-revelation.


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