I escaped last Tuesday night, and travelled two days, and built me
another shelter, in a secluded place, and obliterated my tracks as well
as I could, but she hunted me out by means of a beast which she has
tamed and calls a wolf, and came making that pitiful noise again, and
shedding that water out of the places she looks with. I was obliged to
return with her, but will presently emigrate again, when occasion
offers. She engages herself in many foolish things: among others,
trying to study out why the animals called lions and tigers live on
grass and flowers, when, as she says, the sort of teeth they wear would
indicate that they were intended to eat each other. This is foolish,
because to do that would be to kill each other, and that would
introduce what, as I understand it, is called “death;” and death, as I
have been told, has not yet entered the Park. Which is a pity, on some
accounts.