His hands were like iron and steel; his lips were quick and friendly, or ruthless, as seemed needed.

To John Grier's eyes he was the epitome of civilization--the warrior without a soul.
When Carnac came in now with the statue tucked under his arm, smiling and self-contained, it seemed as though something had been done by Fate to flaunt John Grier.
With a nod, Carnac put the statue on the table in front of the old man, and said: "It's all right, isn't it?
I've lifted that out of the river-life.

That's one of the best men you ever had, and he's only one of a thousand.

He doesn't belong anywhere.

He's a rover, an adventurer, a wanton of the waters.