He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. She could not hide her face. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. 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. Quick! Quick!" The order was only just given in time.
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