' She gave me a glance and I felt sure she had
spotted my awkwardness and was going to pursue the catechism.
But she didn't. To my relief she harked back to our previous
talk. At tea-time, however, she remembered to take the
magazine away with her. . . . It has not yet been returned to
store. . . ."
(ENCLOSURE)
"'_Particularly during my stay in Mindanao had I been fascinated
and attracted by that delightfully original tribe of heathen
known as the head-hunters. Those grim, flinty, relentless
little men, never seen, but chilling the warmest noonday by the
subtle terror of their concealed presence, paralleling the trail
of their prey through unmapped forests, across perilous
mountain-tops, adown bottomless chasms, into uninhabitable
jungles, always near, with the inevitable hand of death
uplifted, betraying their pursuits only by such signs as a beast
or a bird or a gliding serpent might make--a twig crackling in
the awful sweat-soaked night, a drench of dew showering from the
screening foliage of a giant tree, a whisper at even from the
rushes of a water-level--a hint of death for every mile and
every hour--they amused me greatly, those little fellows of one
idea.
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