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Updated: June 23, 2025
"He did me that honour," said Mr. Randolph; "but I think primarily his visit was to Daisy." "Who is Mr. Dinwiddie?" said Mrs. Gary, seeing a contraction in her sister's brow. "It's a Virginian name." "He is a fanatic," said Mrs. Randolph. "I don't know what else he is." "Let us see the fanatic's spoon," said Gary McFarlane. "Egyptian, is it, Daisy? Curious, upon my word!"
Some turned and shook their fists, while others, with the fanatic's unconquerable spirit and reckless valour, rushed back singly, only to fall long before they reached the hated foe. Once the threatening attitude of the retiring masses raised the cry of "Close up! they're coming again!"
This love could be turned into the fanatic's zeal; this boy could be led to the extreme of martyrdom, if the strings of his characterless nature were played upon with a skill sufficiently consummate. Jusseret knew also a number of other things. He knew that whereas he had, to all seeming, brought a difficult task to completion, he was in reality not yet half through.
He had a good idea of the fellow in the one glance he gave him: a pale, thin face, black eyes with a strange spark in them, a burning glance like the inventor's or the fanatic's, and black hair. It was an ascetic face, and yet there was passion of an unnamed sort ready to flash out and do strange things, overthrow the fabric of an ordered life perhaps, or contradict the restraint of years.
"Coffee's ready," he said sardonically. "Come out and join us." There was a long pause. Calhoun rapped again. "You've a seat at the captain's table," he said more sardonically still. "It's not polite to keep me waiting!" He listened, alert for a rush which would be a fanatic's desperate attempt to do murder despite premature discovery.
She unlocked his door, revealing a little room in which books and papers mingled oddly with the bedroom furniture and the tools and bench of his craft. There were two windows with shabby red curtains. On nails hung a few odd garments, one of which, the doublet anciently pierced by the fanatic's dagger, merely served as a memento, though not visibly older than the rest of his wardrobe.
'Don't you think, she said, 'that you ought to go to the seaside for a while? You are not looking at all well. His lips grew firmer, but there was a curious look in his eyes as he turned towards her. 'I have work to do here, he said crisply. 'I know but surely' 'In London, he said and there was a suggestion of the fanatic's ecstasy in his voice 'it is impossible to forget life.
Then the fanatic's burning eyes flashed like beacons, his long arms made sudden and wild gestures, his soft brown hair stood from his head as though lifted by a passing breeze, and his whole being was transfigured in the flash of his own eloquence.
Once an enemy seized Derrick's sword and he found himself vainly struggling against the awful, wild-faced fanatic's sinewy grasp. He saw the man's upraised arm, and knew with horrible certainty that he was helpless, helpless. Then there shot out a swift, rescuing hand. A straight and deadly blow was struck.
The house was like a temple built by a crazy architect to a crazy god, and every stick and stone in it was a fanatic's offering. The old woman jerked her head and stood aside. Her toil-worn face with the melancholy monkey eyes was inscrutable, but Stonehouse guessed at the swift analysis he was undergoing. In his iron temper he could afford to be amused. "Mademoiselle is within."
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