In the first place, the stranger was almost tall enough to be shown as
a giant; he towered to a stature of six feet six inches, English
measure. If his immense bones had been properly covered with flesh, he
might have presented the rare combination of fine proportions with
great height. He was so miserably--it might almost be said, so
hideously--thin that his enemies spoke of him as "the living skeleton."
His massive forehead, his great gloomy gray eyes, his protuberant
cheek-bones, overhung a fleshless lower face naked of beard, whiskers,
and moustache. His complexion added to the startling effect which his
personal appearance produced on strangers. It was of the true
gipsy-brown, and, being darker in tone than his eyes, added remarkably
to the weird look, the dismal thoughtful scrutiny, which it was his
habit to fix on persons talking with him, no matter whether they were
worthy of attention or not. His straight black hair hung as gracelessly
on either side of his hollow face as the hair of an American Indian.
His great dusky hands, never covered by gloves in the summer time,
showed amber-coloured nails on bluntly-pointed fingers, turned up at
the tips. Those tips felt like satin when they touched you. When he
wished to be careful, he could handle the frailest objects with the
most exquisite delicacy.
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