NYLAND'S VENGEANCE Just before the dusk enveloped Okar, Banker Maison closed the desk in his private office and lit a cigar.

He leaned back in the big desk chair, slowly smoking, a complacent smile on his lips, his eyes glowing with satisfaction.
For Maison's capacity for pleasure was entirely physical.

He got more enjoyment out of a good dinner and a fragrant cigar than many intellectual men get out of the study of a literary masterpiece, or a philanthropist out of the contemplation of a charitable deed.
Maison did not delve into the soul of things.

The effect of his greed on others he did not consider.

That was selfishness, of course, but it was a satisfying selfishness.
It did not occur to him that Mary Bransford, for instance, or Sanderson--or anybody whom he robbed--could experience any emotion or passion over their losses.