It was, in fact, the Life-Eye, looking out on what hurts it, that he now knew he had caught glimpses of, all the days of his existence, in a thousand shapes and forms. From air, earth, water, had he intercepted the appeal of that little round living hole … that hole that went through the wall … straight into something else. Into what else? No one knew or would ever know. But into something else. It was upon this he was crying out now … upon that eye … upon that little round hole … upon that chink, that cranny, that slit, out of which life protested against its infamous enemy!
“Jesus … Jesus … Jesus … Jesus!”
Was that the heart of Wolf Solent howling a wordless howl in a dark bedroom, or was it the voice of Mr. Round of Farmer’s Rest seeking escape from his “worries”?