The effect of these words, slowly uttered in the thunder-storm at midnight, was appalling in the last degree. More dead than alive, I surveyed him in silence.
‘The German taste came up,’ said he, ‘and threw me out of bread. I am ready for the taste now.’
He made his beard a little jagged with his hands, folded his arms, and said,
‘Severity!’
I shuddered. It was so severe.
He made his beard flowing on his breast, and, leaning both hands on the staff of a carpet-broom which Mrs. Parkins had left among my books, said:
‘Benevolence.’
I stood transfixed. The change of sentiment was entirely in the beard. The man might have left his face alone, or had no face.
The beard did everything.
He lay down, on his back, on my table, and with that action of his head threw up his beard at the chin.