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? ? ? ? But Wolf Larsen was the man type, the masculine, and almost a god in his perfectness. As he moved about or raised his arms, the great muscles leapt and moved under the satiny skin. I have forgotten to say that the bronze ended with his face. His body, thanks to his Scandinavian stock, was fair as the fairest woman's. I remember his putting his hand up to feel of the wound on his head, and my watching the biceps move like a living thing under its white sheath.

? ? ? ? He noticed me, and I became aware that I was staring at him.

? ? ? ? 'God made you well,' I said.

? ? ? ? 'Did he?' he answered. 'I have often thought so myself, and wondered why.'

? ? ? ? 'Purpose-' I began.

? ? ? ? 'Utility,' he interrupted. 'This body was made for use.


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