No. It's the road covered with white powder that makes the eyelids smart and the paws burn, the tough, shriveled, sweet-smelling grass, where I scratch my nose and my gums; it's the fearful night—for I'm the only one to guard them, He and She. I lie in my basket, but the beating of my poor overdriven heart keeps me awake. I hear a dog crying to me from far off, that the Bad Man has passed on the road. Is he coming in my direction? Will I be obliged in another minute, my eyes bloodshot and tongue dry as chalk, to throw myself upon him and devour his shadowy face? ...
THE LITTLE DOG, (trembling and in ecstasy)
Go on! Go on! Oh! how frightened I am! ...
TOBY-DOG, (modestly)
Don't be afraid—it has never happened. All that is the country, yes, and the interminable hill, in the shadow of the carriage, when thirst, hunger, heat and fatigue, render the soul submissive and hopeless ...
THE LITTLE DOG, (quite worked up)
And then?
TOBY-DOG
Oh, nothing. One arrives at the house, after all, and the pail of dark water, one drinks without taking breath, ("his tongue," She says, "his big tongue is parted in the center, like an iris-petal") while sore eyelids and dusty lashes are splashed with cooling drops.... The country is all that and many things besides....
