“I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. You seemed complete—without that. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. I'll tell you what. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance.
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