To complete the little allegory, you can have as many chances as you like, but only one fate.
Needless to say, though my chances have been many and charming, I naturally prefer my--fate." Tyson was a master of the graceful art of symbolism, and Stanistreet had caught the trick from him.

At the present moment he would have given a great deal to know how much of all this was a mere playing with words.
There was a sound of hurrying feet in the room upstairs, and the two men held their breath.

Tyson was the first to recover.
"Good God, Stanistreet, how white you are! I wish I hadn't let you in for this.

I'm not in the least nervous myself, you know.

She's all right.
Thompson says so.