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115 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1956
The ceremonies were over for the day. The Boy was tired out. Ritual, like a senseless chariot, had rolled its wheels – and the natural life of the day was bruised and crushed.
How long he slept was difficult for him to estimate, but when he woke it was broad daylight, and as he raised himself on one arm he knew that all was ill. This was not the air of his own country. This was foreign air. He looked about and nothing was familiar.
The black-coated figure leaned back in his tracks, so that there was something pompous about him. But the smile was still spread across his face like a dazzling wound.
“I am Goat,” he said, and the noise of it came thickly from between his shining teeth. “I have come to welcome you, child. Yes… yes… to welcome you…”
His jaws were very powerful, and as he crunched the muscles could be seen working between his ears and his jaw; and this was made all the more apparent by the fact that Hyena, in contrast to the Goat, was something of a dandy, shaving himself with a cut-throat razor with great care every five or six hours.
"White. White as foam when the moon is full on the sea; white as the white of a child's eye; or the brow of a dead man; white as a sheeted ghost: Oh, white as wool. Bright wool... white wool... in half a million curls... seraphic in its purity and softness... the raiment of the Lamb.the sightless Lamb can see into a human, see what beastly shape lies within, and so transform them. and then they die, in beast form. the Lamb has devastated his entire world, and so rules over a dead and blighted kingdom. he wants... new toys. fortunately for Titus, the lad has a brain in his head and a chip of granite in his heart, and so proves a capable match for these nightmarish creatures.
And all about it swam the darkness that shifted to the flicker of the candle flames."

There is a kind of laughter that sickens the soul. Laughter when it is out of control: when it screams and stamps its feet, and sets the bells jangling in the next town. Laughter in all its ignorance and its cruelty. Laughter with the seed of Satan in it. It tramples upon shrines; the belly-roarer. It roars, it yells, it is delirious: and yet it is as cold as ice. It has no humour. It is naked noise and naked malice, and such was Hyena's.
For Hyena had such raw vitality of the blood, such brutal ebullience, that as he ran over the ferns and grasses, a kind of throbbing went with him. An almost audible thing, in the profound silence of the forest. For there was a sense of silence in spite of the monstrous and idiotic laughter, a silence more deadly than any long-drawn stillness, for every fresh burst was like a knife wound, every silence a new nullity.
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