The novel’s final section articulates Purvis’s central argument about The Dehumanizing Nature of Patriarchal Control through Anne’s rebuke of the societal forces persecuting her and her sisters for defying gender norms. When Anne refuses to flee her family home, she tells her grandfather their suffering “has nothing to do with the idea of [them] becoming dogs, and everything to do with the fact of [them] being girls” (180). This statement reframes the conflict, moving it from the realm of supernatural paranoia to a direct critique of social power. Until this point, the sisters have been largely objects of external speculation and fear, their supposed transformation into animals serving as a vehicle for the village’s anxieties. Anne’s analysis identifies their true “crime” as female autonomy and being “too free.” This insight exposes the dehumanizing nature of patriarchal control, suggesting that Joseph’s well-intentioned efforts to protect them by locking them away are merely a different form of the same oppressive force that animates the villagers. He feels “cowardly and remote,” recognizing that his actions, meant to preserve their safety, have only reinforced their confinement and alienation. Anne’s defiance is a turning point, as she rejects the narrative imposed upon them and claims their persecution for what it is, a punishment for failing to adhere to prescribed gender roles. 

The chaotic confrontation by the river brings the simmering threat of communal violence to its bloody climax. Pete’s unverified accusation that Anne bit him acts as the final catalyst of the climactic struggle. The scene’s rapid escalation from verbal dispute to strangulation and stabbing demonstrates The Danger of Mob Mentality. While Robin is “frightened” by the “hunger in the air” (187), his brother Richard is carried away by the “general hysteria,” showing how easily individuals can be subsumed by the collective will. Robin’s horror after he kills Pete is not just revulsion at his own violence but a moment of terrible self-recognition. In his panicked cry, “I’ve become them” (197), he understands that he has been consumed by the very brutality he sought to avoid. His act of defense has made him a killer, just as the mob intended to be. Pete’s death is the moment the abstract threat of mob rule becomes an irreversible, tragic reality, proving that Scapegoating Oppressed Communities in Times of Crisis inevitably leads to bloodshed.

These chapters deliberately fracture the narrative perspective, shifting between Joseph, Robin, Thomas, and Temperance to dismantle the monolithic, voyeuristic gaze of the village. This structural choice provides interiority to the sisters’ allies, moving beyond the externalized speculation that has dominated the story. The reader experiences Robin’s breathless terror during the fight, Thomas’s serene contentment after his false confession, and Temperance’s newfound resolve. This multi-perspective approach decentralizes the male gaze to explore the individual psychological toll of the village’s paranoia. By immersing the reader in the distinct consciousness of each character, the novel highlights their humanity in the face of a mob that seeks to erase it. The fragmentation of viewpoint mirrors the social breakdown of Little Nettlebed, showing a community no longer united in its suspicion but splintered by fear, violence, and individual acts of conscience.

In the aftermath of Pete’s death, the narrative explores alternate forms of justice and agency that operate outside the village’s patriarchal power structure. When the mob arrives, ready to condemn the sisters, Thomas’s false confession immediately redirects their fury. The villagers readily accept that he killed Pete out of love for a woman, a motive that fits their understanding of the world far better than the idea of women committing violence themselves. His sacrifice effectively saves the sisters by reasserting a male-centric narrative that the mob can comprehend and process. Temperance’s intervention provides another form of subversion. Operating from a position of relative powerlessness, she uses cunning and bribery to gain access to Thomas and then facilitates his escape. Her actions represent a rebellion against the mob’s verdict. Freed from her usual inhibitions by the ale, she acts on her own moral compass, undermining the official “justice” that was about to execute an innocent man to satisfy the community’s lust for retribution.

The final chapter culminates in a surreal and ambiguous vision that reframes the motif of dogs and barking as a symbol of liberation rather than monstrousness. After discovering the girls’ empty beds, Joseph looks out the window and sees five dogs and Thomas leaping the orchard wall and disappearing into the wilderness. This moment, suspended between dream and reality, fulfills the villagers’ prophecy but inverts its meaning. Where the village saw a demonic transformation and punished the girls for their independence, Joseph sees “[b]eautiful dogs, fierce and full of power” (222), a description that celebrates the girls’ agency. His reaction is a “gladness” born of the conclusion that it is better for his granddaughters to be “dogs than damaged girls” (223). This startling preference suggests that becoming “animal” is preferable to being a woman confined, controlled, and broken by a patriarchal society. The transformation is a flight to freedom, a shedding of the human form that has made them targets. The arrival of rain, signaling the end of the oppressive drought, coincides with their escape, linking their liberation to a natural, cleansing force that washes away the social fever. Joseph’s vision offers a radical resolution, suggesting that true safety for the sisters lies in embracing a wilder existence beyond society’s reach.