You would not think so to look at him, but he was quite unable to stand alone at first." The hunters were snickering, but she looked at me with a sympathy in her eyes which more than compensated for Wolf Larsen's nastiness.

In truth, it had been so long since I had received sympathy that I was softened, and I became then, and gladly, her willing slave.

But I was angry with Wolf Larsen.

He was challenging my manhood with his slurs, challenging the very legs he claimed to be instrumental in getting for me.
"I may have learned to stand on my own legs," I retorted.

"But I have yet to stamp upon others with them." He looked at me insolently.