He had gnawed it, he had pressed it in despair.

Cathewe was a man, and he was not afraid of any man living.

Besides, men rarely became tellers of tales.

But the woman: Hildegarde von Mitter! How to meet her, how to look into her great eyes, how to hear the sound of her voice! He flung the ball of paper into the corner.

She could break him as one breaks a dry and brittle reed..