In the office Blount snapped the lights on and turned to unlock his
desk. As the key clicked in the lock the sixth sense, which is perhaps
only a mingling of the subtler essences of the other five, warned him
sharply, and he wheeled to face the door which had been left on the
latch. As he looked, the door opened silently and the materializing
shadow, haggard of face and with bloodshot eyes mirroring blind rage and
the terror of a cornered rat, slipped into the room and stood warily
aside out of the direct light from the electric chandelier. Blount
looked again and swore softly. The dodging intruder was the man Thomas
Gryson.
XXII
THE ICONOCLAST
It is a threadbare saying that the environment moulds the man. Yet, much
more than the philosophers have contended, there are chameleon
tendencies in the strongest character, and one finely determining to
coerce his surroundings is quite likely to end by realizing that the
surroundings have appealed to unsuspected color-changings in himself.
Thus it may chance that the fairest fighter, finding himself
sufficiently kicked and cuffed in the rough-and-tumble, will discover
how facilely easy it is to descend to the level of his antagonists, and
from this discovery to the awakening of the remorseless passion for
success at any price is but a step, long or short according to the
exigencies of the struggle.
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