Nine o'clock, ten o'clock passed, and Keene did not return.
That Keene's mind was disordered at least three of us suspected already.
There, on the back of it, with his right arm hanging over the edge, was the outline of Edward Keene's form.
Keene was hungry for it, and I was almost as eager, desiring to penetrate as quickly as possible into the heart of the affair.
If Keene was labouring under some strange delusion, some disorder of mind, how could I estimate its nature or extent, without time and study, perhaps without expert advice?
After our latest expedition Keene's dark mood returned upon him with sombre intensity. Dull, restless, indifferent, half-contemptuous, he seemed to withdraw into himself, observing those around him with half-veiled glances, as if he had nothing better to do and yet found it a tiresome pastime.