grāmatā, ko pašlaik lasu, maza meitenīte, kura atšķiras no savām māsām, jo viņu neinteresē lelles, ir lieciniece tam, kā naktī uz pili tiek atvests nomedītais tīģeris. tās ir tik skaistas rindkopas, kuras lasot es zinu, ka man pietiks ilgākam laikam, ko apdomāt:"The cry again! It was not so much a roar, no, which is what Lucrezia had expected: this had a yearning, desperate rasp to it. The sound, Lucrezia thought, of a creature captured against its will, a creature whose desires have all been disregarded."