This woman, this Jehane Saint-Pol, this hot-haired slip of a girl was his.

The leopard had laid his paw upon her shoulder, the mark was still there; he could not suffer any other beast of the forest to touch that which he had printed with his own mark, for himself.
Twi-form is the leopard; twi-natured was Richard of Anjou, dog and cat.
Now here was all cat.

Not the wolf's lust, but the lion's jealous rage spurred him to the act.

He could see this beautiful thing of flesh without any longing to lick or tear; he could have seen the frail soul of it, but half-born, sink back into the earth out of sight; he could have killed Jehane or made her as his mother to him.

But he could not see one other get that which was his.