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328 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1995
Lily arrived on the evening of the day of the concert, riding her mule up the tree-lined drive 鈥� and she was as beautiful as a pagan princess in the blacksmith鈥檚 wife鈥檚 illustrated Bible. She was late; Ambras and Bering had been waiting impatiently on the ground-floor veranda of the house of dogs. The Crow stood ready to go in the evening sun. The beak of the hood, the hammered pinions of the doors, even the taloned grille open to snatch prey were as shiny as on the first day after major repairs. The bodyguard had spent the afternoon tuning the bird鈥檚 valves, brushing spark plugs, filing points, and polishing enamel and chrome with doeskin. The car doors stood open.
The prisoners and their guards had long since vanished aboard ships rattling with the sound of chains, when fishermen noticed the sound of barking dogs still coming from the island. A few of the beasts from the pack must have stayed behind 鈥� been abandoned, chased off, or simply forgotten. Who could say nowadays? The fact remained that with each new generation of increasingly savage offspring, these bloodhounds were now as wary of men as their prey was. They loved shadows, hid in the underbrush by day, rarely came down to the beach, and were hunted with shotguns or harpoons by fishermen and bird catchers who sometimes spent the night in the prison ruins.