He was far from the sweat and from all sorts of fraternity, from desire and hate, and from the wailing of the breed, a childlike, lost, instinctive and princely life, a souvenir of the sweet old landscape that memory seems to encourage.
He was detached from the toil and all forms of fraternity, from passion and animosity, and from the lamentations of his kind, a childlike, lost, instinctive, and princely existence, a relic of the idyllic landscape that memory seems to evoke.