Think of a dog in this world, intoxicated with the odours of so many wild creatures, dashing and splashing through bogs and bushes! It is ten times worse than a bull in a china-shop.

The bull can but smash a lot of objects made of baked clay; the dog introduces a mad panic in a world of living intelligent beings, a fairy realm of exquisite beauty.

They scuttle away and vanish into hiding as if a deadly wind had blown over the earth and swept them out of existence.

Only the birds remain--they can fly and do not fear for their own lives, but are in a state of intense anxiety about their eggs and young among the bushes which he is dashing through or exploring.
I had good reason, then, to congratulate myself on Jack's surly behaviour on our first meeting.

Then, a few days later, a curious thing happened.