THE PEREGRINE FALCON 
the deepest corner of his prison, forgetting that 
the bars which kept him in could keep other 
enemies out. Gently the cats tested hinge and 
bolt, and, finding them staunch, stretched soft 
paws between the wires and tried to scoop him 
within reach of their talons. 
Dawn drove them away, but the daylight 
brought no abatement of lolar's terror. When 
Skerritt tramped across the yard he shrank into 
a corner, and then fought and tore at the man's 
hand while he fed him. Traps, cats, and men 
were all part of the same inferno. The sun- 
shine lay along the roofs. He could just see 
the gleam of it from his perch, but none 
reached the yard. He ate nothing all day. 
The meat his captor gave him remained 
untasted : his water-pot, fouled by the dust 
which his frantic wings beat from the floor, 
was untouched. Every time that the church 
clock clanged overhead, every time one of the 
human kind crossed the yard, he shivered. He 
fluttered and struggled against the bars so much 
that the child sometimes turned half-awed from 
his solitary play to wonder at his passion. 
That night, before midnight had crashed from 
the spire, the cats came again, and one, 
flamboyant-eyed, climbed stealthily to the roof 
of the cage. Her soft heavy breathing shook 
the frail door, and set lolar shuddering with 
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