At the Mountains of Madness

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  nfining clothing and bending naturally, was slender and lithesome, but full of curves which told that the bud of childhood was just beginning to open into the blossom of early maturity–about fifteen or sixteen years old, Donald guessed her to be.
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  el piqued at his neglect, and to strive in many ways to attract his attention.
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  me here as I stand. Shoot again, Umlilwane–shoot again, if you dare. Hau! Hear my `word.’ You have slain my dog–my white hunting dog, the last of his breed–who can outrun every other hunting dog in the land, even as the wind outstrippeth the crawling ox-wagon, and you have shed my blood, the blood of a chief. You had better first have cut off your right hand, for it is better to lose a hand than one’s mind. This is my `word,’ Umlilwane–bear it in memory, for you have struck a chief–a man of the House of Gcaleka.”
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