THE KILLING OF MARMION 



with a group of stalwart young men with their 

 coats off, working like mad at a stone wall to 

 get at something hiding therein. They had with 

 incredible labour and inexplicable enthusiasm 

 and noise pulled down about six feet of it, 

 cemented and wire-wound as it was with age and 

 blackberry vines, their three dogs dancing about 

 in half-delirious expectation. So intent were 

 they all on their hunt that they gave no sort of 

 heed to me, and, believing them to be after a 

 venomous reptile, I watched them with curiosity, 

 some kind of brute elation in me responding to 

 the noise and conflict of it. At last, when a bur 

 row had been uncovered, and the biggest dog of 

 the three thrust his nose in, what was my aston 

 ishment to see him pull out an animal and throw 

 him with a vicious jerk into the centre of the 

 group, and there sat Marmion on his haunches, 

 to be greeted by a chorus of relentless exultation 

 as he looked at dogs and men, trying, in one 

 momentary glance of wonder, before he was torn 

 to pieces, to comprehend the inexplicable injustice 

 and cruelty of it. I shall always remember the 

 reproach of that look. Such intelligence as the 

 poor animal had was wrought in a moment to a 

 pitiful interrogation. &quot; Why should four men 

 and three dogs beset with demoniac delight such 

 a harmless creature as I am ? &quot; Something of 

 the same futile astonishment beset me. There 

 was no use trying to rescue Marmion. He was 

 torn to pieces before I could make myself heard. 

 But why it should afford such satisfaction to the 



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