One Man in His Time 
 
The Project Gutenberg eBook, One Man in His Time, by Ellen 
Glasgow 
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Title: One Man in His Time 
Author: Ellen Glasgow 
Release Date: April 11, 2005 [eBook #15603] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONE MAN 
IN HIS TIME*** 
E-text prepared by David Garcia, Mary Meehan, and the Project 
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team 
 
ONE MAN IN HIS TIME 
by 
ELLEN GLASGOW 
1922 
 
"One man in his time plays many parts." 
 
NOTE 
No character in this book was drawn from any actual person past or 
present. 
 
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 
I. THE SHADOW 
II. GIDEON VETCH 
III. CORINNA OF THE OLD PRINT SHOP 
IV. THE TRIBAL INSTINCT 
V. MARGARET 
VI. MAGIC 
VII. CORINNA GOES TO WAR 
VIII. THE WORLD AND PATTY 
IX. SEPTEMBER ROSES 
X. PATTY AND CORINNA 
XI. THE OLD WALLS AND THE RISING TIDE 
XII. A JOURNEY INTO MEAN STREETS 
XIII. CORINNA WONDERS 
XIV. A LITTLE LIGHT ON HUMAN NATURE 
XV. CORINNA OBSERVES 
XVI. THE FEAR OF LIFE 
XVII. MRS. GREEN 
XVIII. MYSTIFICATION
XIX. THE SIXTH SENSE 
XX. CORINNA FACES LIFE 
XXI. DANCE MUSIC 
XXII. THE NIGHT 
XXIII. THE DAWN 
XXIV. THE VICTORY OF GIDEON VETCH 
 
CHAPTER I 
THE SHADOW 
The winter's twilight, as thick as blown smoke, was drifting through the 
Capitol Square. Already the snow covered walks and the frozen 
fountains were in shadow; but beyond the irregular black boughs of the 
trees the sky was still suffused with the burning light of the sunset. 
Over the head of the great bronze Washington a single last gleam of 
sunshine shot suddenly before it vanished amid the spires and chimneys 
of the city, which looked as visionary and insubstantial as the glowing 
horizon. 
Stopping midway of the road, Stephen Culpeper glanced back over the 
vague streets and the clearer distance, where the approaching dusk spun 
mauve and silver cobwebs of air. From that city, it seemed to him, a 
new and inscrutable force--the force of an idea--had risen within the 
last few months to engulf the Square and all that the Square had ever 
meant in his life. Though he was only twenty-six, he felt that he had 
watched the decay and dissolution of a hundred years. Nothing of the 
past remained untouched. Not the old buildings, not the old trees, not 
even the old memories. Clustering traditions had fled in the white blaze 
of electricity; the quaint brick walks, with their rich colour in the 
sunlight, were beginning to disappear beneath the expressionless mask 
of concrete. It was all changed since his father's or his grandfather's day;
it was all obvious and cheap, he thought; it was all ugly and naked and 
undistinguished--yet the tide of the new ideas was still rising. 
Democracy, relentless, disorderly, and strewn with the wreckage of 
finer things, had overwhelmed the world of established customs in 
which he lived. 
As he lifted his face to the sky, his grave young features revealed a 
subtle kinship to the statues beneath the mounted Washington in the 
drive, as if both flesh and bronze had been moulded by the dominant 
spirit of race. Like the heroes of the Revolution, he appeared a stranger 
in an age which had degraded manners and enthroned commerce; and 
like them also he seemed to survey the present from some inaccessible 
height of the past. Dignity he had in abundance, and a certain mellow, 
old-fashioned quality; yet, in spite of his well-favoured youth, he was 
singularly lacking in sympathetic appeal. Already people were 
beginning to say that they "admired Culpeper; but he was a bit of a prig, 
and they couldn't get really in touch with him." His attitude of mind, 
which was passive but critical, had developed the faculties of 
observation rather than the habits of action. As a member of the 
community he was indifferent and amiable, gay and ironic. Only the 
few who had seen his reserve break down before the rush of an 
uncontrollable impulse suspected that there were rich veins of feeling 
buried beneath his conventional surface, and that he cherished an 
inarticulate longing for heroic and splendid deeds. The war had left him 
with a nervous malady which he had never entirely overcome; and this 
increased both his romantic dissatisfaction with his life and his inability 
to make a sustained effort to change it. 
The sky had faded swiftly to pale orange; the distant buildings 
appeared to swim toward him in the silver air; and the naked trees 
barred the white slopes with violet shadows. In    
    
		
	
	
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