There are times, moreover, when an expression on the face of Hope makes her look like the twin sister of Despair.

The moment falling just after Long-Hair spoke was a century condensed in a breath.
"Long-Hair is friendly now; will white man be friendly ?" Beverley heard, but the speech seemed to come out of vastness and hollow distance; he could not realize it fairly.

He felt as if in a dream, far off somewhere in loneliness, with a big, shadowy form looming before him.

He heard the chill wind in the thickets round about, and beyond Long-Hair rose a wall of giant trees.
"Ugh, not understand ?" the savage presently demanded in his broken English.
"Yes, yes," said Beverley, "I understand." "Is the white man friendly now ?" Long-Hair then repeated in his own tongue, with a certain insistence of manner and voice.
"Yes, friendly." Beverley said this absently in a tone of perfunctory dryness.

His throat was parched, his head seemed to waver.