"Whom do you mean by `he'?" "Peter Quint--you devil!" His face gave again, round the room, its convulsed supplication. Thick among the tufts of rank stiff growth lay battered canisters and clots and coils of solid excrement. Mass will be on Saturday morning at nine o'clock and general communion for the whole college. The personality of the artist, at first a cry or a cadence or a mood and then a fluid and lambent narrative, finally refines itself out of existence, impersonalizes itself, so to speak.