It rasped her, though, to have stirring about in her this brutal monster! to hear twigs cracking and feel hooves planted down in the depths of that leaf-encumbered forest, the soul; never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred...
We use cookies to enhance your browsing experience, analyze site traffic, and personalize content. By clicking "Got It!," you consent to our use of cookies.