The substratum of primitive ferocity which exists at the bottom of most of us rushes to the surface, on occasion, with curious vehemence, and under the skin-deep varnish of modern civilisation, our hearts swell sometimes with a nameless sanguinary fury, and visions of carnage rise up before us.

Inhaling the hot and acrid exhalations of his horse, Andrea Sperelli felt that none of the delicate perfumes affected by him up till now, had ever afforded him such intense enjoyment.
He had scarcely quitted the saddle, before he found himself surrounded by friends of both sexes, eager to congratulate him.

Mallecho, breathing hard, smoking and covered with foam, snorted and stretched his neck, shaking the bridle.

His sides rose and fell with a deep continuous movement, as if they must burst; his muscles vibrated under skin like a bow-string after the shot; his eyes, dilated and bloodshot, had the cruel glare of those of a beast of prey; his coat, now showing great patches of darker colour, ran down with rivulets of perspiration.

The incessant trembling of his whole body was pitiable to see, like the suffering of a human being.
'Poor fellow!' murmured one of the ladies.
Andrea examined his knees to see if he had taken any hurt from his fall.
They were sound.