Still he swung
his head from side to side with the motion of his shuffling gait, his
eyes dull and fixed. At long intervals he uttered a sound, half word,
half cry, "Wolf--wolf!" but it was muffled, indistinct, raucous, coming
more from his throat than from his lips. It might easily have been the
growl of an animal. A long time passed. Naked, four-footed, Vandover ran
back and forth the length of the room.
By an hour after midnight the sky was clear, all the stars were out, the
moon a thin, low-swinging scimitar, set behind the black mass of the
roofs of the city, leaving a pale bluish light that seemed to come from
all quarters of the horizon. As the great stillness grew more and more
complete, the persistent puffing of the slender tin stack, the three gay
and joyous little noises, each sounding like a note of discreet laughter
interrupted by a cough, became clear and distinct. Inside the room there
was no sound except the persistent patter of something four-footed going
up and down. At length even this sound ceased abruptly. Worn out,
Vandover had just fallen, dropping forward upon his face with a long
breath.
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