If you can fancy that look--the last gasp for breath of one caught--squeezed--just going down--a hatred of the crowd that got her there, just to suffocate her--and perhaps one last wild look at the hills out beyond the crowd.

If you can get _that_--that fear, suffocation, terror--and don't forget the hate--yet like the dog you've kicked that grieved--'How could you--when it was a pat I wanted!'-- " "I know it in the dog language," said Katie quiveringly.
"Then imagine the dog crazed with thirst tied just out of reach of a leaping, dancing brook--" "Oh--please.

That's too plain." "It hurts when applied to dogs, does it ?" he asked roughly.
"But they're so helpless--and they love us so!" "And _they're_ so helpless--and they hate because they weren't let love." "But surely there aren't many--such looks.

Not many who feel they're--going down.

Why such things couldn't _be_--in this beautiful world." "Such," he said smilingly, "has ever been the philosophy of sunny paths." "You needn't talk to me like that!" she retorted angrily.