The dog turned his head slowly, and licked his master's hand.
"Now, Span, jump out! There's a good dog!" But Span never moved.
At last Panton managed to half-shove, half-tumble the dog out.

"I've only known him behave like this once before," he muttered, "and that was with a poor mad woman whom I was once compelled to put up in my house for two or three days.

He simply wouldn't go near her! He behaved just as he's doing now." Span was lying on the ground before them, inert, almost as if dead.

But his eyes, his troubled, frightened eyes, were very much alive.
Varick went off into the house for a moment.

He had never liked dogs; and this ugly brute's behaviour, so he told himself, annoyed him very much.
Span got up and shook himself, almost as if he had been asleep.
Panton bent down.