He seemed possessed by an insatiable fury which gave no time for grief.

His lips had become distorted into a permanent snarl, which at mere sight of Wolf Larsen broke out in sound, horrible and menacing and, I do believe, unconsciously.

I have seen him follow Wolf Larsen about with his eyes, like an animal its keeper, the while the animal-like snarl sounded deep in his throat and vibrated forth between his teeth.
I remember once, on deck, in bright day, touching him on the shoulder as preliminary to giving an order.

His back was toward me, and at the first feel of my hand he leaped upright in the air and away from me, snarling and turning his head as he leaped.

He had for the moment mistaken me for the man he hated.
Both he and Johnson would have killed Wolf Larsen at the slightest opportunity, but the opportunity never came.