He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ‘But I do not pay this penalty. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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