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Updated: August 29, 2024
Black streaks ran down from it across his haunching shoulders, the yellowish thrust of the upper body yielding gradually to that of an unchanged wolf. And he was strong, unnaturally strong. His slitted eyes were fierce and full of hatred: Shar-hai. The boy took first one step, and then another, upstream away from them, trying not to show how helpless and afraid he really was.
The haunching of the shoulders was perfect; the stoop, the walk, were triumphs. But he gave me little opportunity to inspect him or to ask for what reason he had thus disguised himself. "It's five minutes from here," he said, "and the clocks are going eight you are right as you are, for you are a cipher in the affair yet, and don't run the danger I run now come!"
I think I never saw anything so hateful, but then I saw his hand at his hanger and his big shoulders haunching. "Will any o' ye be denying it?" he murmured in his pitiful voice, and then through the tears I saw the devil mocking, and knew why the crew hastened to reassure him. Meg, the gleevitch, kept the drink going and threw more wood on the fire.
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