Indeed, I think that from this moment he hated Bastin.

Bickley he respected as a man of intelligence and learning, although in comparison with his own, the latter was infantile and crude; me he tolerated and even liked; but Bastin he detested.
The only one of our party for whom he felt anything approaching real affection was the spaniel Tommy.
We set him down, fortunately uninjured, on some rugs, and also in the shadow.

Then, after a little while, we moved both of them into the sun.
It was quite curious to see them expand there.

As Bickley said, what happened to them might well be compared to the development of a butterfly which has just broken from the living grave of its chrysalis and crept into the full, hot radiance of the light.

Its crinkled wings unfold, their brilliant tints develop; in an hour or two it is perfect, glorious, prepared for life and flight, a new creature.
So it was with this pair, from moment to moment they gathered strength and vigour.