He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. " A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. ‘The old man who lives here, idiot.
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