It was impossible for him to keep his heart from beating a little
faster as he watched her, even though he was trying to regard her
in a most professional sort of way. He reminded himself that she
was an iniquitous little Jezebel who had almost murdered him.
Carmin Fanchet had been like her, an AME DAMNEE--a fallen angel--
but his business was not sympathy in such matters as these. At the
same time he could not resist the lure of both her audacity and
her courage, and he found himself all at once asking himself the
amazing question as to what her relationship might be to Bateese.
It occurred to him rather unpleasantly that there had been
something distinctly proprietary in the way the half-breed had
picked her up on the sand, and that Bateese had shown no
hesitation a little later in threatening to knock his head off
unless he stopped talking to her. He wondered if Bateese was a
Boulain.
The two or three minutes of excitement in the boiling waters of
the Holy Ghost had acted like medicine on Carrigan. It seemed to
him that something had given way in his head, relieving him of an
oppression that had been like an iron hoop drawn tightly about his
skull.
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