“I ought never have gone to the Zoo, I suppose. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. Thames said not another word, but marched boldly towards him, and seized him by the collar. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. There's something human about you now. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious.
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