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Updated: July 5, 2025
It may be that to the extent to which a wolf can understand mankind he felt that he was an outlaw. Gwynplaine rose. Resistance was impracticable, as Gwynplaine knew. He remembered Ursus's words, and there was no question possible. He remained standing in front of the wapentake.
"Then I look, perhaps, like what I am." The Green Box, built on a clear model of Ursus's, contained this refinement of ingenuity that between the fore and hind wheels the central panel of the left side turned on hinges by the aid of chains and pulleys, and could be let down at will like a drawbridge.
Under the placard announcing the Laughing Man was a piece of wood, painted white, hung on two nails, on which was written in charcoal in large letters the title of Ursus's grand piece, "Chaos Vanquished."
On this mattress some one was probably lying, for he could see a shadow move. Some one was speaking. Concealed by the van, Gwynplaine listened. It was Ursus's voice. That voice, so harsh in its upper, so tender in its lower, pitch; that voice, which had so often upbraided Gwynplaine, and which had taught him so well, had lost the life and clearness of its tone.
It was the same that he had seen from the shore. There was a lantern on the deck, close to the foremast, by the gleam of which was sketched in black, on the dim background of the night, what Gwynplaine recognized to be Ursus's old four-wheeled van.
Homo, having come from under the van, was going from one to the other discreetly, exacting no attention, licking them left and right now Ursus's thick shoes, now Gwynplaine's cape, now Dea's dress, now the mattress. This was his way of giving his blessing. They had passed Chatham and the mouth of the Medway. They were approaching the sea.
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