His fingers massaged his lips, a frequent gesture with people of vacillating character. 'I was fond of him as a boy and flattered myself that his negro blood was in no way evident, though his mother was a mulatto—but it was only in process of incubation; it has since shown itself—not physically, but in more sinister manifestations: in the workings of his mind.' He reached for his gin-and-bitters, slopping half of it down the front of his tunic. 'My conscience demands that I should warn you,' he went on, after gulping down his gin and wiping his gray muzzle on his sleeve. 'He is intelligent, and when not crossed his disposition is cheerful and kind—when not crossed, you observe, because it is when his resentment is aroused that the black blood comes all to the surface. At such times he is a fiend incarnate—but there is no reason why in your case any such condition should arise.' He glanced about him nervously, then hunched his chair closer to mine. 'I will tell you some thing that you would never guess,' said he,
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