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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

My sensations were not unpleasant. I could actually feel the
blood quicken in my veins.
Civilization places the temple of life in the soul or the heart,
as she speaks through the mouth of the preacher or the poet; but
let civilization go for four or five days without anything to eat
and see what happens. The organ is vulgar, but its voice is loud.
I need not name it.
In five minutes Harry returned, dragging two more of the
creatures at his heels. In half an hour there were a dozen of
them lying in a heap at the edge of the water.
"That's all," he announced, panting heavily from his exertions.
"The rest have taken to the woods, which, I imagine, is quite a
journey from here. You ought to see our friend--the one who
couldn't make his eyes behave. They've eaten him full of holes.
He's the most awful mess--sickening beast. He didn't have a bone
in him--all crumpled up like an accordion. Utterly spineless."
"And who, in the name of goodness, do you think is going to eat
all that?" I demanded, pointing to the heap of bodies.
Harry grinned.
"I don't know. I was so excited at the very idea of a square
meal that I didn't know when to stop.


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