Surely no human being ever stared as hard as I did in those next few minutes. Yet, the harder I stared the clearer appeared the amazing and monstrous apparition. For, after all, it was Sangree⁠—and yet it was not Sangree. It was the head and face of an animal, and yet it was the face of Sangree: the face of a wild dog, a wolf, and yet his face. The eyes were sharper, narrower, more fiery, yet they were his eyes⁠—his eyes run wild; the teeth were longer, whiter, more pointed⁠—yet they were his teeth, his teeth grown cruel; the expression was flaming, terrible, exultant⁠—yet it was his expression carried to the border of savagery⁠—his expression as I had already surprised it more than once, only dominant now, fully released from human constraint, with the mad yearning of a hungry and importunate soul. It was the soul of Sangree, the long suppressed, deeply loving Sangree, expressed in its single and intense desire⁠—pure utterly and utterly wonderful.