The murmur of pleasant conversation was incessant and musical.

For a time Wrayson had escaped.
He swore to himself that he would go back no more into bondage; that he would dwell no more upon the horrors through which he had lived.

He would take hold of the pleasant things of life with both hands, and grip them tightly.

A man should be master of his thoughts, not the slave of unwilling memories.

He would choose for himself whither they should lead him; he would fight with all his nerve and will against the unholy fascination of those few thrilling hours.