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All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. S. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light.
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