So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. But I will never—never return.
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