I sometimes wonder what sort of chap I'd have been if I hadn't been this sort; I want to go and live out his potentialities, too.

I haven't forgotten that there are birds in the bushes." Bartley stopped and sat frowning into the fire, his shoulders thrust forward as if he were about to spring at something.

Wilson watched him, wondering.

His old pupil always stimulated him at first, and then vastly wearied him.

The machinery was always pounding away in this man, and Wilson preferred companions of a more reflective habit of mind.