He had a splitting headache, of the kind which is
made more painful by looking at quickly moving objects, which, at
the same time, exercise an irresistible fascination over the eye.
Almost unconsciously he compared his own life to the river--
turbid, winding, destroying. The simile was incoherent, like most
of his fancies on that day, but it served to express a thought,
and he began to feel an odd sympathy for the muddy stream, such as
perhaps no one had ever felt before him. But as he looked he grew
dizzy, and drew back from the parapet. There must have been
something strange in his face, for a man who was passing looked at
him curiously and asked whether he were ill. He shook his head
with a sickly smile and passed on.
The apothecary was standing idly at his door, waiting for a custom
that rarely came his way. He was a cadaverous man, about fifty
years of age, with eyes of an uncertain colour set deep in his
head. An ill-kept, grizzled beard descended upon his chest, and
gave a certain wildness to his appearance. A very shabby green
smoking cap, trimmed with tarnished silver lace, was set far back
upon his head, displaying a wrinkled forehead, much heightened by
baldness, but of proportions that denoted a large and active
brain.
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