Then the busy fingers were at work with his inadequate
eyebrows: finally:--
"Khalas!" muttered Said, tapping him on the shoulder.
Soames wearily opened his eyes, wondering if his strange martyrdom were
nearly at its end. He discovered his hair to be still rather damp, but,
since it was sparse, it was rapidly drying. His eyes smarted painfully.
Removing all trace of his operations, Said, with no word of farewell,
took up his towels, bottles and other paraphernalia and departed.
Soames watched the retreating figure crossing the outer room, but did
not rise from the chair until the door had closed behind Said. Then,
feeling strangely like a man who has drunk too heavily, he stood up
and walked into the bedroom. There was a small shaving-glass upon the
chest-of-drawers, and to this he advanced, filled with the wildest
apprehensions.
One glance he ventured, and started back with a groan.
His apprehensions had fallen short of the reality. With one hand
clutching the bedrail, he stood there swaying from side to side, and
striving to screw up his courage to the point whereat he might venture
upon a second glance in the mirror. At last he succeeded, looking long
and pitifully.
"Oh, Lord!" he groaned, "what a guy!"
Beyond doubt he was strangely changed.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149