The Gods of Mars

Weakly I rose for the last time—my tortured lungs gasped for the breath that would fill them with a strange and numbing element, but instead I felt the revivifying breath of life-giving air surge through my starving nostrils into my dying lungs. I was saved

In that little party there was not one who would desert another; yet we were of different countries, different colours, different races, different religions—and one of us was of a different world

A long life has taught me that a man may seem weak where women and children are concerned and yet be anything but a weakling in the sterner avenues of life