An overwrought tale of demonic possession, or whatever (nobody knows), dripping with portent that is never realized. Barry is a young punk in a state of permanent rage against contemporary English society, in particular his own narrow life in a static farming village. When he finds in a sewer excavation the stone head of an ancient cat-god, somehow its ""power"" is transmitted to him, and in a short time he becomes pied piper to a malign cult of village children bent on who-knows-what unspeakable evil. A handful of worried adults, never mind who, are doing their mortal best to counter the ominous presence. But not until a young outsider, gone berserk, chops a live cat to bloody death on the altar of the cat-god is the spell broken and the children, and Barry, set free. Maybe. Cheap theatrics and florid writing make this one of Lawrence's less palatable fantasies.