There was something about him which made other men seem like pygmies.

There was force in the stern self-repression of his speech, in the curve of his lips, the clear lightning of his eyes.
My silence did not seem altogether to satisfy him.

I felt his eyes challenge mine, and I was forced to meet his darkly questioning gaze.
"Come," he said, "I trust that I have said enough.

You have buried the thought of that hateful word." "You have stricken it mortally," I answered, "but I can scarcely promise so speedy a funeral.

However, what more I feel," I added, "I will keep to myself." "It would be better," he answered curtly.
"You have asked me," I said, "many questions.