I used sometimes to think he _was_ the devil.

It wasn't long-headed or cunning he was, but he knew your thoughts before you half knew them yourself.

He knew what _every_ one was thinking of.

He made up his mind at a glance, and struck like a thunderbolt.

As for pity or fear, he did not know what they were, and his cunning was so deep and sure there was no catching him.
'He came down to the Pied Horse Inn, where I was a drawer, at Newmarket, twice.' Mervyn looked in his face, quickly, with a ghastly kind of a start.
'Ay, Sir, av coorse you know it; you read the trial; av coorse you did.
Well, he came down there twice.