Gordon Young

“ The flush of panic swept her and she tried to cry out but could only gasp and snatch for it as for something dearer than life. The bottle was in her hand, her fingers were at the cork—a sense of darkness, of being pressed to death came to her, suffocating. The rushing men were that close. As she flung the glass to her lips and swallowed stranglingly—they caught her. For a moment she was shaken this way and that like a doll in the mouth of dogs. Her waist was ripped from the shoulders, the silken things below it were torn away and the fair white flesh was given to the eyes of the men. ”

“ Already the men were busy with looting the stateroom and feverishly drinking. The glass doors of the buffet had been kicked out the more easily to scramble among the bottles.
Clobb caught her up into both his arms and tried to soothe with gentleness what he thought was her fright. His voice was hoarse. She needn't be afraid of him. Why all the fuss? Hadn't she shown she liked him?
He had lifted and was holding her firmly. His arms were stronger than her convulsive death agony. He put his mouth to her swollen, blackened, burned lips, and the odor and taste of acid stung. ”

“ Something of good natured savagery settled on the men. They were ridiculously like children that have raided a garret and found old horse-pistols, swords and tarnished gilt trappings of martial grandfathers. ”