For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. “I should like to understand you,” he said. Hoped you'd not be retaken. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. The thought of beauty became an obsession.
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