It gave him a fictitious courage which he would not have had unarmed against almost any man--or woman--in Askatoon.
"You get a woman to do your fighting for you," he said hatefully.

"You have to drag her in.

It was you I meant to challenge, not the poor girl young enough to be your daughter." His hand went to his waistcoat pocket.

Crozier saw and understood.
Suddenly Crozier's eyes blazed.

The abnormal in him--the Celtic strain always at variance with the normal, an almost ultra-natural attendant of it awoke like a tempest in the tropics.