Rude brutal anger routed the last lingering instant of ecstasy from his soul. "I mean that's HIS way--the master's. I HOPE I AM NOT DETAINING YOU. The icy slope, the turn mistaken at night and in liquor, accounted for much--practically, in the end and after the inquest and boundless chatter, for everything; but there had been matters in his life-- strange passages and perils, secret disorders, vices more than suspected-- that would have accounted for a good deal more.
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