I've been looking for a woman like you--all my life. I'm
crazy about you. I'm crazy----"
And then Fanny's fine composure and self control fled, and
she thought of her mother. She began to struggle, too, and
to say, like any other girl, "Let me go! Let me go!
You're hurting me. Let me go! You! You!"
And then, quite clearly, from that part of her brain where
it had been tucked away until she should need it, came
Clarence Heyl's whimsical bit of advice. Her mind released
it now, complete.
"If you double your fist this way, and tuck your thumb
alongside, like that, and aim for this spot right here,
about two inches this side of the chin, bringing your arm
back and up quickly, like a piston, the person you hit will
go down, limp. There's a nerve right here that communicates
with the brain. The blow makes you see stars, and bright
lights----"
She went limp in his arms. She shut her eyes, flutteringly.
"All men--like you--have a yellow streak," she whispered,
and opened her eyes, and looked up at him, smiling a little.
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