The psychology of it is sadly tangled, and yet I could read the workings of his mind as clearly as though it were a printed book.
Several days went by, the _Ghost_ still foaming down the trades, and I could swear I saw madness growing in Thomas Mugridge's eyes.

And I confess that I became afraid, very much afraid.

Whet, whet, whet, it went all day long.

The look in his eyes as he felt the keen edge and glared at me was positively carnivorous.

I was afraid to turn my shoulder to him, and when I left the galley I went out backwards--to the amusement of the sailors and hunters, who made a point of gathering in groups to witness my exit.