His isolation bent him upon himself, and the old salt's hoarse
murmurings of the "Chiney" seas in no way drew him to a healthier
outlook. Why Valentine returned for him that night he did not know.
That might have been merely the prompting of a vagrant impulse. Julian
cursed that impulse, on account of the circumstances to which it directly
led; for there was a peculiar strain of enmity in them which had
affected, and continued to affect, him most disagreeably. To behold
the instinctive hostility of another towards a person whom one loves is
offensively grotesque to the observer, and at moments Julian hated the
doctor's mastiffs, and even hated the unconscious Rip, who lay, in a
certain shivering discomfort and apprehension, seeking sleep with the
determination of sorrow. There are things, feelings, and desires, which
should surely be kicked out of men and dogs. Such a thing, beyond doubt,
was a savage hatred of Valentine. What prompted it, and whence it came,
were merely mysteries, which the dumbness of dogs must forever sustain.
But what specially plunged Julian into concern was the latent fear that
Dr. Levillier might echo the repulsion of his dogs and come to look
upon Valentine with different eyes. Julian's fine jealousy for his
friend sharpened his faculties of observation and of deduction, and
he had observed the little doctor's dry reception of Valentine after
the struggle on the stairs, and his eager dismissal of them both to the
street door on the howling excuse that rose up from the basement.
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