and then in the center a face thrown back so you can see it for just an instant before it sinks to suffocation. If you can fancy that look—the last gasp for breath of one caught—squeezed—just going down—a hatred of the crowd that got her there, just to suffocate her—and perhaps one last wild look at the hills out beyond the crowd. If you can get that —that fear, suffocation, terror—and don't forget the hate—yet like the dog you've kicked that grieved—'How could you—
when it was a pat I wanted!'—"
"I know it in the dog language," said Katie quiveringly.
"Then imagine the dog crazed with thirst tied just out of reach of a leaping, dancing brook—"
"Oh—please. That's too plain."
"It hurts when applied to dogs, does it?" he asked roughly.
"But they're so helpless—and they love us
