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 could only feel a human hand on his head, or some one running his ears through their fingers.

Also, the pangs of hunger were gnawing at his vitals, and this double discomfort was almost unendurable. But about dusk he spied a man dumping some refuse in an open lot. The man was shoveling it from a wagon. A dog was lying on the grass watching him. So Pierre knew the man and team belonged to that dog.

Finally the man finished and drove away, and the dog trotted after the team. From where he was hiding behind a fence watching them, Pierre thought he could smell raw meat. When he finally crept up to where the team had been, he discovered that it was indeed raw meat. But it was not the sort he was used to.

Porterhouse? Well, I should say not.