Then she broke out again into one of her gay, happy, laughing moods;
joking with me on my prowess as a Thark warrior as contrasted with
my soft heart and natural kindliness.
"I presume that should you accidentally wound an enemy you would
take him home and nurse him back to health," she laughed.
"That is precisely what we do on Earth," I answered. "At least
among civilized men."
This made her laugh again. She could not understand it, for, with
all her tenderness and womanly sweetness, she was still a Martian,
and to a Martian the only good enemy is a dead enemy; for every
dead foeman means so much more to divide between those who live.
I was very curious to know what I had said or done to cause her so
much perturbation a moment before and so I continued to importune
her to enlighten me.
"No," she exclaimed, "it is enough that you have said it and that I
have listened. And when you learn, John Carter, and if I be dead,
as likely I shall be ere the further moon has circled Barsoom
another twelve times, remember that I listened and that I--smiled."
It was all Greek to me, but the more I begged her to explain the
more positive became her denials of my request, and, so, in very
hopelessness, I desisted.
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