_There are times when the animal in Mankind savagely asserts itself. Even children become snarling little beasts. Fortunately, however, in childhood laughter is not buried deep._ He dropped over the stone wall and flattened to the ground. He looked warily about him like a young wolf, head down, eyes up. His name was Steven--but he'd forgotten that. His face was a sunburned, bitter, filthy eleven-year-old face--tight lips, lean cheeks, sharp blue eyes with startlingly clear whites. His clothes were rags--a pair of corduroy trousers without any knees; a man's white shirt, far too big for him, full of holes, stained, reeking with sweat; a pair of dirty brown sneakers.…
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