She subsided at once, submissively.
'She is a wild cat,' said Birkin.

'She has come in from the woods.' The eyes of the stray cat flared round for a moment, like great green fires staring at Birkin.

Then she had rushed in a soft swift rush, half way down the garden.

There she paused to look round.

The Mino turned his face in pure superiority to his master, and slowly closed his eyes, standing in statuesque young perfection.