Octavian walked
through the long grass of the meadow with a step less jaunty than usual.
And as he passed beneath the shadow of the high blank wall he glanced up
and became aware that his hunting had had undesired witnesses. Three
white set faces were looking down at him, and if ever an artist wanted a
threefold study of cold human hate, impotent yet unyielding, raging yet
masked in stillness, he would have found it in the triple gaze that met
Octavian's eye.
"I'm sorry, but it had to be done," said Octavian, with genuine apology
in his voice.
"Beast!"
The answer came from three throats with startling intensity.
Octavian felt that the blank wall would not be more impervious to his
explanations than the bunch of human hostility that peered over its
coping; he wisely decided to withhold his peace overtures till a more
hopeful occasion.
Two days later he ransacked the best sweet shop in the neighbouring
market town for a box of chocolates that by its size and contents should
fitly atone for the dismal deed done under the oak tree in the meadow.
The two first specimens that were shown him he hastily rejected; one had
a group of chickens pictured on its lid, the other bore the portrait of a
tabby kitten.
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