Pulp Poem of the Week

He was disturbed,

still trembling, still vibrating

with the throes of the crisis,

but he was the master;

the animal was downed,

was cowed for this time,

at least.

But for all that, the brute

was there. Long dormant,

it was now at last alive,

awake. From now on he

would feel its presence continually;

would feel it tugging at its chain,

watching its opportunity.

Frank Norris
McTeague
1899