Be that as it may, I hated John Claverhouse. Not that he had done me what society would consider a wrong or an ill turn. Far from it. The evil was of a deeper, subtler sort;so elusive, so intangible, as to defy clear, defnite analysis in words. We all experience such things at some period in our lives. For the frst time we see a certain individual, one who the very instant before we did not dream existed;and yet, at the frst moment of meeting, we say:“I do not like that man.”Why do we not like him?Ah, we do not know why;we know only that we do not. We have taken a dislike, that is all. And so I with John Claverhouse.
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