Of animal life, there was nothing left but monkeys and wild pig, the latter having been domesticated. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. “It sounds too ridiculous. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. The major’s hand stilled. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace.
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