‘You are not sympathique in the very least. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. I love him as a brother. “You see the pointer?” he asked. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again.
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