A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. He liked to draw her in, and she did her best to talk. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.
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