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Updated: May 23, 2025
And feeling that his harsh tones were melting into tenderness, he drowned his emotion in a loud grumble. "Father," said Dea, "how roughly you scold!" "It's because I don't like to see people too happy." Here Homo re-echoed Ursus. His growl was heard from beneath the lovers' feet. Ursus stooped down, and placed his hand on Homo's head. "That's right; you're in bad humour, too. You growl.
Beneath it was hanging Homo's chain. Does it not seem that the law and the will of nature would have dictated Gwynplaine's headlong rush to throw himself upon life, happiness, love regained? So they would, except in some case of deep terror such as his.
In the top of his van was a hole, through which passed the pipe of a cast-iron stove; so close to his box as to scorch the wood of it. The stove had two compartments; in one of them Ursus cooked his chemicals, and in the other his potatoes. At night the wolf slept under the van, amicably secured by a chain. Homo's hair was black, that of Ursus, gray; Ursus was fifty, unless, indeed, he was sixty.
Ursus had been, in his relations with Gwynplaine and Dea, almost a father and a mother. Grumbling all the while, he had brought them up; grumbling all the while, he had nourished them. His adoption of them had made the hut roll more heavily, and he had been oftener compelled to harness himself by Homo's side to help to draw it.
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