He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. ‘You can’t prove nothing. To reach it would be a most difficult undertaking. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing.
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