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"Yes, how's that to be done?" repeated the other Official. They turned silent and tried again to fall asleep, but their hunger scared sleep away. Before their eyes swarmed flocks of pheasants and ducks, herds of porklings, and they were all so juicy, done so tenderly and garnished so deliciously with olives, capers and pickles. "I believe I could devour my own boots now," said the one Official.
“I am like a vagabond pig with no family ties, who has no lady pig to welcome him home o’nights, and with no tender sucklings to call him ‘papa,’ in that prattling porcine language that must fall so sweetly on the ears of all parents of innocent porklings. Like Othello, I have no wife, and really I can see little hope in the future.”
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