I had never guessed before the magnetic power of Jaffery Chayne.

Indeed I had often wondered how the overgrown and apparently irresponsible schoolboy who couldn't make head or tail of Nietzsche and from whom the music of Shelley was hid, had managed to make a journalistic reputation as a great war and foreign correspondent.
Now the veil of the mystery was drawn an inch or two aside.

I saw him mingle with an alien crowd, and, by what On the surface appeared to be sheer brute full-bloodedness, compel them to his will.

The wedding was not to be a hollow clang of bells but a glad fanfare of trumpets in all hearts.

In order that this wedding of Adrian and Doria should be memorable he had instinctively put out the forces that had carried him unscathed through the wildest and fiercest of the congregations of men.
He could subdue and he could create.