There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how true a descendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes.
Baskerville przyglądał mu się ze wzruszeniem, jako pobojowisku, na którem rozegrywały się tragiczne losy jego rodziny.