Michelle awoke suddenly, violently. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse.
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