It just hinted of the eagle beak.

It might have been Grecian, it might have been Roman, only it was a shade too massive for the one, a shade too delicate for the other.

And while the whole face was the incarnation of fierceness and strength, the primal melancholy from which he suffered seemed to greaten the lines of mouth and eye and brow, seemed to give a largeness and completeness which otherwise the face would have lacked.
And so I caught myself standing idly and studying him.

I cannot say how greatly the man had come to interest me.

Who was he?
What was he?
How had he happened to be?
All powers seemed his, all potentialities--why, then, was he no more than the obscure master of a seal-hunting schooner with a reputation for frightful brutality amongst the men who hunted seals?
My curiosity burst from me in a flood of speech.
"Why is it that you have not done great things in this world?
With the power that is yours you might have risen to any height.