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As Rupert came up, the cat drew back, his ears flattened and his lips a-snarl. "Cinders! What has he done?" demanded Charity, swooping down upon her pet. At her coming, he fled under the couch out of reach. Rupert picked up the desk. "Nothing much," he laughed. "Just torn all that lining loose, as I had planned to do." "What is this?"
Out of the sawdust he soared in rage, neck-hair erect, throat a-snarl, teeth bared to bite, and he would have sunk his teeth into the flesh of the master-god had he not been the slave of cunning formula. The two youths knew their work. One tightened the lead ahead, the other to the rear, and Michael snarled and bristled his impotent wrath.
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