It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents.
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