’ Roding gave a bark of derisive laughter and left the room. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. That is why I ask you. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage.
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