noons
Not remorse . In the breast of a man possessed by the masterful consciousness of his individuality with its desires and its rights ; by the immovable conviction of his own importance , of an importance so indisputable and final that it clothes all his wishes , endeavours , and mistakes with the dignity of unavoidable fate , there could be no place for such a feeling as that of remorse . The days passed . They passed unnoticed , unseen , in the rapid blaze of glaring sunrises , in the short glow of tender sunsets , in the crushing oppression of high noons without a cloud . How many days ? Two -- three -- or more ? He did not know .