"Give me a love-clasp, spider," he said with a kind of sneer. "I'd like
your love as I travel to triumph." A light of hatred came into Denzil's
eyes. "Beetledog--wasp--spider" he had been called by this big man--well,
he should see that the wasp could give as good as it got. His big gnarled
hand enclosed the hand of Barode Barouche, then he suddenly closed on it
tight. He closed on it till he felt it crunching in his own and saw that
the face of Barode Barouche was like that of one in a chair of torture.
He squeezed, till from Barouche's lips came a gasp of agony, and then he
let go.
"You've had my love-clasp, m'sieu'," Denzil said with meaning, "and when
you want it again let me know. It's what M'sieu' Carnac will do with you
to-morrow night. Only he'll not let go, as I did, before the blood comes.
Don't be hard on those under you, m'sieu'. Remember wasps and spiders can
sting in their own way, and that dogs can bite."
"Little black beast," was the short reply, "I'll strip your hide for
Hell's gridiron in good time."
"Bien, m'sieu', but you'll be in hell waiting, for I'm going to bury you
here where you call better men than yourself dogs and wasps and spiders
and beetles. And I'll not strip your 'hide,' either.
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