If the memory of her was all that he was to have, he resolved that at least that memory should be perfect.
And the love of her had made a man of him--he could not forget that; had given to him just the strength that made it possible for him to keep that resolute, grim silence now.

In those two months he had grown five years; he was more masculine, more virile.

The very set of his mouth was different; between the eye-brows the cleft had deepened; his voice itself vibrated to a heavier note.

No, no; so long as he should live, he, man grown as he was, could never forget this girl of nineteen who had come into his life so quietly, so unexpectedly, who had influenced it so irresistibly and so unmistakably for its betterment, and who had passed out of it with the passing of the year.
For a few moments Condy had been absent-mindedly snapping the lid of his cigarette case, while he thought; now he selected a cigarette, returned the case to his pocket, and fumbled for a match.

But the little gun-metal case he carried was empty.