"Why do you not speak, White Man?" she said at last in a slow clear
voice. "Well, there is no need, since I can read your thoughts. You are
thinking that I who am called the Bee should be better named the Spider.
Have no fear; I did not kill these men. What would it profit me when the
dead are so many? I suck the souls of men, not their bodies, White Man.
It is their living hearts I love to look on, for therein I read much and
thereby I grow wise. Now what would you of the Bee, White Man, the Bee
that labours in this Garden of Death, and--what brings _you_ here,
son of Zomba? Why are you not with the Umcityu now that they doctor
themselves for the great war--the last war--the war of the white and the
black--or if you have no stomach for fighting, why are you not at the
side of Nanea the tall, Nanea the fair?"
Nahoon made no answer, but Hadden said:--
"A small thing, mother. I would know if I shall prosper in my hunting."
"In your hunting, White Man; what hunting? The hunting of game, of
money, or of women? Well, one of them, for a-hunting you must ever be;
that is your nature, to hunt and be hunted.
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