The whine had changed to a sort of humming purr that seemed to come from every quarter of the compass. It was the noise that bewilders woodcutters and gypsies sleeping in the open, and makes them run sometimes into the very mouth of the tiger. The Jungle Book Rudyard Kipling, Copyright notice These books are published in Australia and are out of copyright here.
Connect your Kindle device with your computer using a USB cable. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald. Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen.
Frankenstein Mary Shelley. Great Expectations Charles Dickens. But they are afraid of him too, because Tabaqui, more than anyone else in the jungle, is apt to go mad, and then he forgets that he was ever afraid of anyone, and runs through the forest biting everything in his way.
Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake a wild creature. We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee—the madness—and run.
Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people], to pick and choose? How large are their eyes! And so young too! Indeed, indeed, I might have remembered that the children of kings are men from the beginning.
Now, Tabaqui knew as well as anyone else that there is nothing so unlucky as to compliment children to their faces. It pleased him to see Mother and Father Wolf look uncomfortable. Tabaqui sat still, rejoicing in the mischief that he had made, and then he said spitefully:. He will hunt among these hills for the next moon, so he has told me. He will frighten every head of game within ten miles, and I—I have to kill for two, these days.
That is why he has only killed cattle. Now the villagers of the Waingunga are angry with him, and he has come here to make our villagers angry. They will scour the jungle for him when he is far away, and we and our children must run when the grass is set alight. Indeed, we are very grateful to Shere Khan! Thou hast done harm enough for one night. I might have saved myself the message. Father Wolf listened, and below in the valley that ran down to a little river he heard the dry, angry, snarly, singsong whine of a tiger who has caught nothing and does not care if all the jungle knows it.
Does he think that our buck are like his fat Waingunga bullocks? The whine had changed to a sort of humming purr that seemed to come from every quarter of the compass. It was the noise that bewilders woodcutters and gypsies sleeping in the open, and makes them run sometimes into the very mouth of the tiger. Are there not enough beetles and frogs in the tanks that he must eat Man, and on our ground too!
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