“History of fiddlestick!” snapped the lady. And then in a more amiable tone, “But he’s no idiot. He has read a little. You’ll enjoy going through his library.”

Wolf felt himself experiencing a rather cowardly hope that his companion would pass the slaughterhouse this time without comment. The hope was not fulfilled.

“I suppose you eat them?” she asked in a hoarse whisper; and Wolf, turning towards her a startled face, was struck by an expression of actual animal fear upon her extraordinary physiognomy. But she did not linger; and it was not long before they were once more opposite the workhouse.