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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"A Yellow God: an Idol of Africa"

But my mother of that day, she would not let him go, and by and by
I will show him to you, if you wish."
Bewildered, amazed, Alan listened to her. Evidently the woman was mad,
or else she played some mystical part for reasons of her own.
"When will you let me go, O Asika?" he repeated.
"Not yet a while, I think," she said again. "You are too comely and I
like you," and she smiled at him. There was nothing coarse in the smile,
indeed it had a certain spiritual quality which thrilled him. "I like
you," she went on in her dreamy voice, "I would keep you with me until
your spirit is drawn up into my spirit, making it strong and rich as all
the spirits that went before have done, those spirits that my mothers
loved from the beginning, which dwell in me to-day."
Now Alan grew alarmed, desperate even.
"Queen," he said, "but just now your husband sat here, is it right then
that you should talk to me thus?"
"My husband," she answered, laughing. "Why, that man is but a slave who
plays the part of husband to satisfy an ancient law. Never has he so
much as kissed my finger tips; my women--those who waited on you last
night--are his wives, not I,--or may be, if he will.


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