"I have always felt that you would make a good book of it because you know.

Ilbert is a very capable critic." He did Ilbert justice with some difficulty.

He had a sharp thought of Ilbert coming in and out as he had been used to, when he should come no more.

For the first time in his life, which had had no room for self-consciousness, he compared himself with another man, handsome, debonair, and remembered the lean visage over which mornings he passed the razor, dark, lantern-jawed, almost grotesque.

It was the only aspect of himself he knew, the one which was presented to him when he shaved.
"Now you are like yourself," Mary said sweetly.