He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. Steps to aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side. “But Sebastian! I need them!” He smiled, not a smile of comfort, but a smile of terrible menace.
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