The quarry passes you, panting heavily and straining against his brass hand-cuffs. His hat falls away - he's a devil. A trap! Someone paid the hunt to come after you! Run for it!
The quarry passes you, panting heavily and straining against his brass hand-cuffs. […] The pack is behind him by only a minute. They jog along lazily, splendid in their scarlet coats and silver fang-caps. They are gone. Time to attend to business.
