Yet now and again, as he struggles along the more difficult trails, he may catch a momentary glimpse of eyes in the undergrowth on either side, and hear soft movements and the snapping of twigs.If he is an optimist, he will shrug his shoulders and take little notice, as I reacted at first.But now I say this: the dangers change in some measure but the predators are still there, a little more subtle than in former times, though fundamentally not much—fundamentally, not much—and liable suddenly to be just as red in tooth and claw.There is no need to take notice of these words.Better, in some ways, to be an optimist. Better to hope for the best, as the ill-equipped peasant has been compelled to do through the ages, if life was not to become intolerable. And if, now and again, the peasant is clawed to the ground, what of it?There are plenty more of us.The first part of this story is simple, as such affairs go. I am a writer of crime stories, which means that the characters in my stories are mostly fictional, but occasionally the victim bears a resemblance to somebody I detest, and why not indeed?
