It seemed to be about the size of a calf, leaner
than a mastiff, yet more squat than a wolf, and I can swear that I saw
the fur ridged sharply upon its back. Then its upper lip slowly lifted,
and I saw the whiteness of its teeth.
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.
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