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Updated: June 14, 2025
"And that their sins may grow," I said, "let them live in their folly until their time is ripe. Let them not know that I am the Master." "The Master's will is sweet," said the Dog-man, with the ready tact of his canine blood. "But one has sinned," said I. "Him I will kill, whenever I may meet him. When I say to you, 'That is he, see that you fall upon him.
"Even now he watches us!" This startled them. Twenty pairs of eyes regarded me. "The House of Pain is gone," said I. "It will come again. The Master you cannot see; yet even now he listens among you." "True, true!" said the Dog-man. They were staggered at my assurance. An animal may be ferocious and cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.
My Dog-man imperceptibly slipped back to the dog again; day by day he became dumb, quadrupedal, hairy. I scarcely noticed the transition from the companion on my right hand to the lurching dog at my side.
Once I tried to induce the Beast Folk to hunt him, but I lacked the authority to make them co-operate for one end. Again and again I tried to approach his den and come upon him unaware; but always he was too acute for me, and saw or winded me and got away. He too made every forest pathway dangerous to me and my ally with his lurking ambuscades. The Dog-man scarcely dared to leave my side.
The gleaming eyes never left Picard's face, the dog-like body jumped whichever way he did, Picard half expected the dog-man to bite or snap the next instant and take a chunk out of him. Both had got to their feet now; the stranger still silent and nosey, Picard looking out of the corner of his eye for a way of escape. But just then the Baker spied a maenad with a drum.
It was here, on the edge of the Rafiel Road that skirted the wood, that she had once seen the dog-man eating his luncheon out of a red pocket-handkerchief. There was no sign of him to-day. All was silent and still. Only the little wood uttered little sighs of content beneath the flying clouds. Hamlet, tired with his racing after imaginary rabbits, walked quietly along by Mary's side.
'Lend me half-a-sovereign, will you, doggie? She called him doggie in those days because he was a sort of dog-man, a sort of St Bernard, shaggy and big, with faithful eyes; and he enjoyed being called doggie. But on this occasion he was not to be bewitched by the enchanting innocence of the smile nor by the endearing epithet. He refused to relax his features.
Knew nothing of his history, and was very sorry to lose him, for he was a remarkably clever beast. "I told my dog-man to look about for him, but he says he has probably been killed, with ever so many more; so there is an end of it, and I call it a mean shame." "Good for Horace!
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