He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. ‘Certainly I have them with me. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them.
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