Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig, the latter having been domesticated. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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