"The Brat," his father had called him in his childhood, "The Lout," when he had grown big-limbed and clumsy.

Both he and Tenham were sick enough, without being called upon to contemplate "The Lout," whose opinion, in any case, they preferred not to hear.
Saltyre, during the hideous days, shut himself up in the library.

He did not leave the house, even for exercise, until after the pair had fled.
His exercise he took in walking up and down from one end of the long room to another.

Devils were let loose in him.

When Penzance came to him, he saw their fury in his eyes, and heard it in the savagery of his laugh.
He kicked an ancient volume out of his way as he strode to and fro.
"There has been plenty of the blood of the beast in us in bygone times," he said, "but it was not like this.