The man seemed real enough to Dolan, from the wide crown of his slightly bald, V-shaped head, to his feet with the hard click in the heels; and yet that man paid no particular attention to Dolan.

It was "Hello, Jake," with a nod, as they passed, maybe only an abstracted stare and a grunt.

But at night, as they walked together over the town under the stars or moon, a lonely soul rose out of the tall body and spread over the face.
Dolan kept to his pipe and Hendricks to his cigar.

But these were the only marks of caste between them.

One night Hendricks led the way across the bridge down the river road and into the fields.