He could see no open way through which he might find his enemies and overcome them.
But Storri had his miserable prides, and would perish where he stood rather than tell the San Reve this.

With her he must pretend to power; he must swagger and boast more loudly than before.

This was the vanity and the strategy of the man.

He would have thrust his hand into the fire sooner than confess himself beaten by Mr.Harley to the San Reve.

She must continue to wonder at and worship him; it was the incense demanded by the nostrils of his self-love.
"How do I stand with those Harleys, my San Reve ?" Storri's tone was supercilious and tired, as though he had been forced to remember ones who wearied him by vulgarest dint of their inconsequence.