He did more things with himself and of himself than did he, Ian.

There was that in Ian that did not like this, that was jealous of being surpassed.

And there was that in Ian that would not directly display this feeling, that would provide it, indeed, with all kinds of masks, but would, with certainty, act from that spurring, though intricate enough might be the path between the stimulus and the act.
"It is deep ?" "Aye.

Almost bottomless, you would think, and cold as winter." "Let us go swimming." "The day's getting late and it's growing cold.

However, if you want to--" Ian did not greatly want to.