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[Illustration: I sought out Dejah Thoris in the throng of departing chariots.]
Except for Lottie's angry screams, the room was quite quiet.
Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a Harlequin at home.
Raising my strange Martian rifle to my shoulder I sighted and touched the button which controlled the trigger; there was a sharp explosion as the missile reached its goal, and the charging chieftain pitched backward from his flying mount.
