He came back, a riding-whip under his arm, buttoning up a dogskin glove; his face reflected the resolute nature of his thoughts.

His wife had waited for him at the head of the stairs, and before he gave her the parting kiss he finished the conversation-- "What should be perfectly clear to us," he said, "is the fact that there is no going back.

Where could we begin life afresh?
We are in now for all that there is in us." He bent over her upturned face very tenderly and a little remorsefully.
Charles Gould was competent because he had no illusions.

The Gould Concession had to fight for life with such weapons as could be found at once in the mire of a corruption that was so universal as almost to lose its significance.

He was prepared to stoop for his weapons.