And while I looked at him I recognised him.

I had seen his face, or one like it, before often, often.

And it seemed as though I had known him just as he stood there, years and years ago, on the other side of the world.

I was almost certain it was so, and yet he seemed barely twenty.

It was an impossibility, and yet as I looked I grew every moment more certain.
He dashed in in an insolent way.