How did that lady of night's eyes come to fall into her subjection?
He put no question as to the name she bore; it hung in a black suspense--vividly at its blackest illuminated her possessor.

A man is a hero to some effect who wins a woman like this; and, if his glory bespells her, so that she flings all to the winds for him, burns the world; if, for solely the desperate rapture of belonging to him, she consents of her free will to be one of the nameless and discoloured, he shines in a way to make the marrow of men thrill with a burning envy.
For that must be the idolatrous devotion desired by them all.
Weyburn struck down upon his man's nature--the bad in us, when beauty of woman is viewed; or say, the old original revolutionary, best kept untouched; for a touch or a meditative pause above him, fetches him up to roam the civilized world devouringly and lawlessly.

It is the special peril of the young lover of life, that an inflammability to beauty in women is in a breath intense with him.

He is, in truth, a thinly-sealed volcano of our imperishable ancient father; and has it in him to be the multitudinously-amorous of the mythologic Jove.

Give him head, he can be civilization's devil.