Her eyes were dull, her heart burned out, her hands gnarled with toil under the slavedom of a beast.

Yet even Peter, quiet as a mouse where he lay, sensed the difference between them.

He had seen the girl and this woman sobbing in each other's arms.

And often he had crawled to the woman's feet, and occasionally her hand had touched him, and frequently she had given him things to eat.

But it was seldom he heard her voice when the man was near.
The man was biting off a chunk of black tobacco.