It was wholly uncharacteristic of all that he knew of her, and yet somehow, night after night, as the hours dragged by, he seemed to see her looking at him a little contemptuously.
"At any rate," he almost heard her say, "if you didn't do it, you made a friend of a man who did.

And you were in prison." Oh! there are countless excellent explanations of his really terrible depression; and yet somehow it does not seem to me at all in line with what I know of Frank, to think that they explain it in the least.

I prefer to believe, with a certain priest who will appear by and by, that the thing was just one stage of a process that had to be accomplished, and that if it had not come about in this way, it must have come about in another.

As for his religion, all emotional grasp of that fled, it seemed finally, at the touch of real ignominy.

He retained the intellectual reasons for which he had become a Catholic, but the thing seemed as apart from him as his knowledge of law--such as it was--acquired at Cambridge, or his proficiency in lawn-tennis.