.

A MIND, AND NOT A MIND.
La Tribe tore through the thicket, imagining Carlat and Count Hannibal hot on his heels.

He dared not pause even to listen.

The underwood tripped him, the lissom branches of the alders whipped his face and blinded him; once he fell headlong over a moss-grown stone, and picked himself up groaning.

But the hare hard-pushed takes no account of the briars, nor does the fox heed the mud through which it draws itself into covert.