The Centaurians
in the world could resemble him so completely. She was beautiful, wondrously beautiful, in a sensuous, barbaric fashion. Her luxurious tresses, glossily rippled unconfined; her dusky neck, shoulders, arms were devoid of covering except for the flashing gems that hid most of her charms. Soft, white, shimmering stuff wound around her form. This woman, with her great animal magnetism, could sway and rule as she pleased. The conquest of Octrogona was diversion to her. She hung upon his shoulder with her full weight. He flung his arm around her, both were oblivious of our presence. In silence he gazed into her deep eyes with intense love, and she cooed to him while one pretty hand caressed his cheek.
"Octrogona, I am your prisoner," we heard her tell him. "Your eyes thrill, hold me, your glance is stronger than prison bars."
"I should say so!" muttered Sheldon, who had become very restless.
"I love you! I love you!" the siren went on. "Octrogona, your pleasure is mine."
Swiftly he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.
"No," said Sheldon, turning his back upon them, "they're not married yet. Matrimony is death to that sort of thing. And I say, boys, she's playing the same old game on him, and they claim to be six hundred years ahead of us. That fiery boy is as blind as a bat. Twenty to one foxy Potolili rules the two tribes in less than a month, and I don't
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