He could make himself look like Shakespeare or Julius Caesar or Billy Sunday or Brigadier-General Richard Hannay if he wanted to.

He hasn't got any personality either--he's got fifty, and there's no one he could call his own.

I reckon when the devil gets the handling of him at last he'll have to put sand on his claws to keep him from slipping through.' Blenkiron was settled in his chair again, with one leg hoisted over the side.
'We've closed a fair number of his channels in the last few months.

No, he don't suspect me.

The world knows nothing of its greatest men, and to him I'm only a Yankee peace-crank, who gives big subscriptions to loony societies and will travel a hundred miles to let off steam before any kind of audience.