His face contracted
spasmodically, but although a thin red thread of blood sprang out
along the edge of the blade, Brake remained mute. An idea suddenly
seized me. This sort of death had no terrors for him. I would try
another. There was the precipice. I was twice as powerful as he
was, so I seized him in my arms, and in a moment transported him to
the margin of the steep, smooth cliff, the edge of which was
garnished with the tough stems of the wild vine. He seemed to feel
it was useless to struggle with me, so allowed me passively to roll
him over the edge. When he was suspended in the air, I gave him a
vine stem to cling to and let him go. He swung at a height of
eighty feet, with face upturned and pale. He dared not look down.
I seated myself on the edge of the cliff, and with my knife began
to cut into the thick vine a foot or two above the place of his
grasp. I was correct in my calculation. This terror was too much
for him. As he saw the notch in the vine getting deeper and
deeper, his determination gave way.
"I'll answer you," he gasped out, gazing at me with starting
eyeballs; "what do you ask?"
"What are you?" was my question, as I ceased cutting at the stem.
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