ficient
development here, an undue development there, a twist or a crook that
destroyed symmetry, legs too short or too long, or too much sinew or bone
exposed, or too little. Oofty-Oofty had been the only one whose lines
were at all pleasing, while, in so far as they pleased, that far had they
been what I should call feminine.

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. It was the biceps that had nearly
crushed out my life once, that I had seen strike so many killing blows.
I could not take my eyes from him. I stood motionless, a roll of
antiseptic cotton in my hand unwinding and spilling itself down to the
floor.

He noticed me, and I became conscious 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. These muscles
were made to grip, and tear, and destroy living things that get between
me and life. But have you thought of the other living things? They,
too, have muscles, of one kind and another, made to grip, and tear, and
destroy; and when they come between me and life, I out-grip them,
out-tear them, out-destroy them. Purpose does not explain that. Utility
does."

"It is not beautiful," I protested.

"Life isn't, you mean," he smiled. "Yet you say I was made well. Do you
see this?"

He braced his legs and feet, pressing the cabin floor with his toes in a
clutching sort of way. Knots and ridges and mounds of muscles writhed
and bunched under the skin.

"Feel them," he commanded.

They were hard as iron. And I observed, also, that his whole body had
unconsciously drawn itself together, tense and alert; that muscles were
softly crawling and shaping about the hips, along the back, and across
the shoulders; that the arms were slightly lifted, their muscles
contracting, the fingers crooking till the hands were like talons; and
that even the eyes had changed expression and into them were coming
watchfulness and measurem