At length the Dog halts, having led them to where, residing half out of doors, fram’d in cabl’d timbers wash’d in from a wreck of long ago, an old piece of awning held by a gnaw’d split, ancient Euphroe between her and the sky with its varied Menace, sits Dark Hepsie, the Pythoness of the Point. “Here,” the Dog butting at Mason, “here is the one you must see.”
