His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. ’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down.
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