Blows were struck, and there were always two or three men nursing injuries at the hands of the human beast who was their master.

Hunger was changing them from human beasts to wild beasts.

There were beasts, human and less than human, circling the Prophet.

The human beast was far from knocked out.

I fear it is the nature of the human beast and just as necessary to him as love.

It was half human, half beast like a neanderthal.

Teams of two men were roped to each cart like human beasts of burden.

Any of these human beasts might have grabbed it up.

From a snarling, threatening human beast, he had been transformed into an inert mass.

The human beast is an explorer, a wanderer, and always has been.