His novitiate had passed.

He was one of those who threw knives or battled at the sawmill with the persecuter of golden-haired innocence, or lured beautiful women from their homes.

He might be taken, he thought, for an actor resting between pictures.
At the gate he suffered a momentary regret at an error of tactics committed the evening before.

Instead of leaving the lot by the office he should have left by the gate.

He should have strolled to this exit in a leisurely manner and stopped, just inside the barrier, for a chat with the watchman; a chat, beginning with the gift of a cigar, which should have impressed his appearance upon that person.