But all of that was forgotten. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. This was an imitation of the noises made by the carnivora at the Zoological Gardens at feeding-time; the idea was taken up by prisoner after prisoner until the whole place was alive with barkings, yappings, roarings, pelican chatterings, and feline yowlings, interspersed with shrieks of hysterical laughter. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding.
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