He looked about for his hat, and put it on. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Enchanted. You get the idea. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. In stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. ” “It’s all the same,” said Miss Miniver. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him.
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