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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Condensed Novels"

The night was
bright and starlight. I was revolving in my mind the words of a
singular item I had just read in the "Times." I had reached the
darkest portion of the road, and found my self mechanically
repeating: "An elderly gentleman a week ago left his lodgings on
the Kent Road," when suddenly I heard a step behind me.
I turned quickly, with an expression of horror in my face, and by
the light of the newly risen moon beheld an elderly gentleman, with
green cotton umbrella, approaching me. His hair, which was snow
white, was parted over a broad, open forehead. The expression of
his face, which was slightly flushed, was that of amiability
verging almost upon imbecility. There was a strange, inquiring
look about the widely opened mild blue eye,--a look that might have
been intensified to insanity, or modified to idiocy. As he passed
me, he paused and partly turned his face, with a gesture of
inquiry. I see him still, his white locks blowing in the evening
breeze, his hat a little on the back of his head, and his figure
painted in relief against the dark blue sky.
Suddenly he turned his mild eye full upon me. A weak smile played
about his thin lips.


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