You may look in your mirror and note these accidents with satisfaction; you may feel young and indulge in the pastimes of youth without effort.

But you are thirty-five.

We know it.

We who look at you can see it for ourselves, and, if you could only be brought to believe it, we think no worse of you on that account.
The man who rode beside Karl Steinmetz with gloomy eyes and a vague suggestion of flight in his whole demeanor was, like reader and writer, exactly what he seemed.

He was the product of an English public school and university.