The end was merely a long glint of light.

As for Ronicky Doone, he cried out in surprise and then sat down, balancing the weapon in his hand and looking down at it, with the silent happiness of a child with a satisfying toy.
Frederic Fernand was observing him.

There was something remarkably likable in young Doone, he decided.

No matter what John Mark had said--no matter if John Mark was a genius in reading the characters of men--every genius could make mistakes.

This, no doubt, was one of John Mark's mistakes.