“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. ’ Fire enveloped Charvill’s mind and he brought up his cane, pointed like a musket. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture.
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