Summary

Portrait of Edgar Wallace Edgar Wallace Bones — VI The Soul of the Native Woman (1915)

Bones was making distressful grimaces.
"How would you like a lion to stick his finger in your eye?" asked Hamilton severely; "and, by the way, Bones, I have to thank you."
He rose solemnly, took the hand of his reluctant and embarrassed second and wrung.
"Thank you," said Hamilton, in a broken voice, "for saving my life."
"Oh, I say, sir," began Bones feebly.
"To carry a man eighty miles on your back is no mean accomplishment, Bones—especially when I was unconscious——"
"I don't say you were unconscious, sir. In fact, sir——" floundered Lieutenant Tibbetts as red as a peony.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edgar Wallace Edgar Wallace Bones — VI The Soul of the Native Woman (1915)

For she knew men too well to inspire confidence in them. By some weird intuition which certain women of all races acquire, she had probed behind their minds and saw with their eyes, and when she spoke of men, she spoke with a conscious authority, and such men, who were within earshot of her vitriolic comments, squirmed uncomfortably, and called her a woman of shame.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edgar Wallace Edgar Wallace Bones — VI The Soul of the Native Woman (1915)

She was in fact a pure Ochori woman, and the Ochori are related dimly to the Arabi tribes.
"Lord, Bosambo the King has sent me to speak about women," she said simply.
"Doocidly awkward," said Bones to himself, and blushed.
"O, D'riti," he stammered, "it is true I wish to speak of women, for I make a book that all white lords will read."
"Therefore have I come," she said. "Now listen, O my lord, whilst I tell you of women, and of all they think, of their love for men and of the strange way they show it.
Source: Wikisource

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