Manchurian Books

"Nor do I
think you could, Larree."
"Oh, no," said Larry easily. "I never tried to be that strong. I
fly," he added, casually.
The priestess rose to her feet, gazing at him with startled eyes.
"Fly!" she repeated incredulously. "Like a _Zitia_? A bird?"
Larry nodded--and then seeing the dawning command in her eyes, went on
hastily.
"Not with my own wings, Yolara. In a--a corial that moves
through--what's the word for air, Doc--well, through this--" He made a
wide gesture up toward the nebulous haze above us. He took a pencil
and on a white cloth made a hasty sketch of an airplane. "In a--a
corial like this--" She regarded the sketch gravely, thrust a hand
down into her girdle and brought forth a keen-bladed poniard; cut
Larry's markings out and placed the fragment carefully aside.
"That I can understand," she said.
"Remarkably intelligent young woman," muttered O'Keefe. "Hope I'm not
giving anything away--but she had me."
"But what are your women like, Larree? Are they like me? And how
many have loved you?" she whispered.


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