His face was swarthy, swollen by excess in drink apparently, and half
covered by a shaggy beard and mustache as black as night. The eyes were
deep-set, and wary: the poise of the head upon the shoulders, haughty;
the expression of the entire countenance cold, phlegmatic, grim.
Such was this man, upon the surface. But there was something more about
him which irresistibly attracted attention, and aroused speculation. At
the first glance, you set him down as a common-place ruffian, the prey
of every brutal passion. At the second glance, you began to doubt
whether he was a mere vulgar adventurer--you could see, at least, that
this man was not of low birth. There was in his bearing an indefinable
something which indicated that he had "seen better days." The surface
of the fabric was foul and defiled, but the texture beneath was of
velvet, not "hodden gray."
"That brute," I thought, "was once a gentleman, and crime or drink has
destroyed him!"
Darke continued to gaze at Swartz and the gray woman as they plied
their busy work; and once or twice be pointed to drawers which they had
failed to open. These directions were promptly obeyed, and the work
went on. The few words which the parties uttered came in an indistinct
murmur only through the window at which I was stationed.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98