His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. She was surprised at his modesty. Pipes were lighted; and Mr.
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