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shadowy eastward hills the stars were multiplying. The knoll fires were
bright red now, and black figures stood waiting against them. They were
waiting for a scream.... Surely it would be soon.
The night suddenly seemed full of movement. She held her breath. Things
were passing--one, two, three--subtly sneaking shadows.... Jackals.
Then a long waiting again.
Then, asserting itself as real at once over all the sounds her mind had
imagined, came a stir in the thicket, then a vigorous movement. There
was a snap. The reeds crashed heavily, once, twice, thrice, and then
everything was still save a measured swishing. She heard a low tremulous
growl, and then everything was still again. The stillness
lengthened--would it never end? She held her breath; she bit her lips to
stop screaming. Then something scuttled through the undergrowth. Her
scream was involuntary. She did not hear the answering yell from the
mound.
Immediately the thicket woke up to vigorous movement again. She saw the
grass stems waving in the light of the setting moon, the alders swaying.
She struggled violently--her last struggle. But nothing came towards
her. A dozen monsters seemed rushing about in that little place for a
couple of minutes, and then again came silence. The moon sank behind the
distant chestnuts and the night was dark.
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