She had bent over the river's edge, to wash her arms and hands, but glanced up over her shoulder to answer his remark. "They do count.
But we only regard a m an as human for just as long as he's able to hold his own with others."The flesh was soon cooked, and they breakfasted in silence. Maskull cast heavy, doubtful glances from time to time toward his companion.
Whether it was due to the strange quality of the food, or to his long abstention, he did not know, but the meal tasted nauseous, and even cannibalistic. He ate little, and the moment he got up he felt defiled.
"Let me bury this drude, where I can find it some other time," said Oceaxe. "On the next occasion, though, I shall have no Maskull with me, to shock.... Now we have to take to the river."They stepped off the land onto the water. It flowed against them with a sluggish current, but the opposition, instead of hindering them, had the contrary effect - it caused them to exert themselves, and they moved faster. They climbed the river in this way for several miles. The exercise gradually improved the circulation of Maskull's blood, and he began to look at things in a far more way.
The hot sunshine, the diminished wind, the cheerful marvellous cloud scenery, the quiet, crystal forests-all was soothing and delightful.
They approached nearer and nearer to the gaily painted heights of Ifdawn.
There was something enigmatic to him in those bright walls. He was attracted by them, yet felt a sort of awe. They looked real, but at the same time very supernatural. If one could see the portrait of a ghost, painted with a hard, firm outline, in substantial colors, the feelings produced by such a sight would be exactly similar to Maskull's impressions as he studied the Ifdawn precipices.