He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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