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Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan, 1814-1873

"Uncle Silas A Tale of Bartram-Haugh"


He rose, tall and slight, a little stooped, all in black, with an ample
black velvet tunic, which was rather a gown than a coat, with loose
sleeves, showing his snowy shirt some way up the arm, and a pair of wrist
buttons, then quite out of fashion, which glimmered aristocratically with
diamonds.
I know I can't convey in words an idea of this apparition, drawn as it
seemed in black and white, venerable, bloodless, fiery-eyed, with its
singular look of power, and an expression so bewildering--was it derision,
or anguish, or cruelty, or patience?
The wild eyes of this strange old man were fixed upon me as he rose; an
habitual contraction, which in certain lights took the character of a
scowl, did not relax as he advanced toward me with his thin-lipped smile.
He said something in his clear, gentle, but cold voice, the import of
which I was too much agitated to catch, and he took both my hands in his,
welcomed me with a courtly grace which belonged to another age, and led me
affectionately, with many inquiries which I only half comprehended, to a
chair near his own.
'I need not introduce my daughter; she has saved me that mortification.


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