" There fell upon the three the silence of perfect understanding; and in this silence each saw a vision. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. You are in the hands of a wicked, a terrible man, who will not stop till he has completed your destruction. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters.
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