CHAPTER V. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose.
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