“My dog was the greatest solace in my life,” he said. “I am not a sentimental fool. There is nothing either sentimental or foolish in loving that which, with a whole heart and perfectly, loves you. And a dog’s devotion really is one of the most perfect, one of the most touching, and one of the most complete sentiments that can be manifested by one living creature to another. Not to respond to it would be absolutely devilish. But one can’t help oneself if one isn’t made of stone. I won’t bore you with a long account of Whisper’s devotion and fidelity. Why should I? It’s enough to say that she loved me as much as a dog can love, and in a dog’s way, with absolute unselfishness, with entire singleheartedness. I never felt lonely when she was with me, scarcely ever even dull. When I had been out without her, and, on my return, she met me at the door, almost hysterically eager to show her rapture, I—well, I was glad to be alive, and felt that life was worth while so long as I could evoke such a tempest of delight in any living creature. A faithful dog, believe me, is the best bulwark against the coming of cynicism. You can’t be a cynic when a dog’s cold nose is pushed into your hand, or a dog’s paw is placed gently and solemnly upon your knee. When I lost Whisper, when I found out what had been her fate, I felt something that was more than grief”—he leaned over the table and laid his hand on my arm—“I felt hatred, burning hatred, against those who had snared and murdered her, against all who use animals cruelly for the purposes of men.” His face was transformed. I seemed to see before me a man whom I had never seen before. This man, I felt, could be not only gentle, but vindictive, and would be quite capable of expressing himself not only in words, but also through actions. “I can understand your bitterness,” I said. “But does not this recalling of a painful event only stir up recollections that⸺?” He interrupted me almost roughly. “That doesn’t matter at all. I want to tell you now. I prefer to.” “Go on, then,” I said. He took his hand from my arm, and continued— “The fate of my companion altered me. It either stirred from sleep, or actually woke into life, a fierceness that till then I had not known existed, or could exist, in me. It made me understand that, in certain circumstances and to certain people, I could be implacable, almost ferocious; that I could deny the sole right of Providence—you know the text: why quote it?—to administer that gorgeous justice we name vengeance; that I could stand up and exclaim, ‘I will repay,’ and repay without fear, without flinching, and even to the uttermost farthing. But that was not all it did to me. With this awakening, or this creation of fierceness in me, there came a deepening of pity, of tenderness for the slaves of man. Yet I was selfish, and I have remained selfish.” “How?” I asked, wondering.