The boy was breathing stertorously through his nose, almost snorting. The saliva was dribbling down his chin. He sank in a heap against the bricks and said,
"Hullo!"
"Ello!" came a deep voice. "Feel sick?"
"I don't know," giggled the boy, crouching limp on the brick-floor.
He knew now what those rabbits he and Gwen had ferreted with glee felt, old Yellow Jack worming down the burrow after them.
Yes: it was nicer to ferret than to be ferreted.
Nicest of all perhaps to be the ferret and suck blood, suck blood, suck blood, glued between the eyes of your victim.
Again the boy giggled.
The horror was passing. It was only a nightmare now, too terrible to be true, and a familiar nightmare. To be hemmed in thus in darkness, an ogre creeping in upon him, he just a throbbing heart and breathing nostrils…. Often before … in life, in death, in dreams…. He didn't know, and didn't greatly care…. Time to wake soon…. Mother or old Nan would knock in a minute…. This sort of dream always ended in that knock.
He beckoned to the hopping toad, smiling. They might just as well be friends. Mother's knock would disturb them soon enough.