The very guts were gathered up in baskets to be cooked.

And where the last little soft iron dagger had done its work, the blood had been drunk, and the last scrap of hide bad been cut into strips, to be chewed when the meat and its memory were things of the past, the enormous ribs lay glistening in the moonlight like those of an abandoned wreck, picked as clean as if the kites had done it.
"Have we done a commendable thing ?" laughed Fred, looking at the crowd's distended paunches.

"There's a good bull hippo the less.
We've saved the lives for a time of several hundred gluttons.

They know neither grace nor gratitude." But he was wrong.

They did.