with indignation, your bark bro- 

 ken, your teeth multiplied with 

 hatred and rage, you are about 

 to seize their reconcilable adver- 

 sary by the breeches, when the 

 cook, armed with her broom, the 

 ancillary and forsworn sceptre, 

 comes to protect the traitor, and 

 you are obliged to go back to 

 your hole, where, with eyes filled 

 with impotent and slanting flames, 

 you growl out frightful, but futile 

 curses, thinking within yourself 

 that this is the end of all things, 

 and that the human species has 



