He is as Lucifer would be, were that proud spirit banished to a society of soulless, Tomlinsonian ghosts.
This loneliness is bad enough in itself, but, to make it worse, he is oppressed by the primal melancholy of the race.

Knowing him, I review the old Scandinavian myths with clearer understanding.

The white-skinned, fair-haired savages who created that terrible pantheon were of the same fibre as he.

The frivolity of the laughter-loving Latins is no part of him.

When he laughs it is from a humour that is nothing else than ferocious.