Reverie," said Atheist
good-humouredly, "that Mr. Cruelty says more than he means. To my mind
he is mistaken--too energetic; but his intentions are good."
"He's a staunch, dependable fellow," said Obstinate, patting down the
wide cuffs he wore.
But even at that moment a stranger softly entered the inn out of the
night. His face was of the grey of ashes, and he looked once round on
us all with a still, appalling glance that silenced the words on my
lips.
We sat without speech--Obstinate yawning, Atheist smiling lightly,
Superstition nibbling his nails, Reverie with chin drawn a little
back, Pliable bolt upright, like a green and white wand, Mistrust
blinking his little thin lids; but all with eyes fixed on this
stranger, who deemed himself, it seemed, among friends.
He turned his back on us and sipped his drink under the heedless,
deep, untroubled gaze of Mrs. Nature, and passed out softly and
harmlessly as he had come in.
Reverie stood up like a man surprised and ill at ease. He turned to
me. "I know him only by repute, by hearsay," he said with an effort.
"He is a stranger to us all, indeed, sir--to all.
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