” She nodded. Wood to a seat within it, immediately pushed from land. When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. “—but this cannot be. You spoke just now of a youth whom Mr. Wood was once a favourite of yours. A few seasons went by where he initiated her into the disgusting rituals of killing and eating human beings, a dark time where she pined for a rescuer who never arrived. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. " To-morrow! She never beheld it.
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