CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. " "Ha!" ejaculated the other. Tell him the truth, Annabel. She stabbed him with her canines. ‘You are wise, Marthe. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. It does not matter to him either way. In another instant, the collision took place.
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