Not if I read her aright. Her head rose. “Listen,” she said. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. In this state, he contrived to get the poor black's hand into his mouth, and nearly bit off one of his fingers before the sufferer could be rescued. Here they would be having lunch. Hollo rumbled in his throat.
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