Wolf Larsen did not seem affected, however; though I noticed, when we returned to the deck, a slight twitching of the nostrils, a perceptible quickness of movement.

His face was stern, the lines of it had grown hard, and yet in his eyes--blue, clear blue this day--there was a strange brilliancy, a bright scintillating light.

It struck me that he was joyous, in a ferocious sort of way; that he was glad there was an impending struggle; that he was thrilled and upborne with knowledge that one of the great moments of living, when the tide of life surges up in flood, was upon him.
Once, and unwitting that he did so or that I saw, he laughed aloud, mockingly and defiantly, at the advancing storm.

I see him yet standing there like a pigmy out of the _Arabian Nights_ before the huge front of some malignant genie.

He was daring destiny, and he was unafraid.
He walked to the galley.