He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. She sat herself upon the bed. ’ ‘Perfectly correct, my boy. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. That's the job.
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