Altogether, it was the face of a man who was practically if not actually dead.

But in the eyes, there lay the life of the man.

From under jutting brows they peered as witnesses of a brain which had accumulated a rare knowledge of mankind, man's shallowness, servility, hypocrisy, his natural inability to obey the simplest laws of nature; a brain which was set in motion always by calculation, never by impulse.

They were grey eyes, bold and fierce and liquid as a lion's.

None among the great had ever beaten them down, for they were truthful eyes, almost an absolute denial of the life he had lived.