He might
have been fifty, but it was difficult to read his age from his face. His
features were scarred with ancient scars and a piece of his mouth was
missing--and perhaps a tooth or two as well, if one could have seen
through his thick grizzled moustache. An eye was missing on the same
side, and half his face was tattooed with little black points as if from
an exploded musket. His nose was bent sideways and quite flattened at
the top, doubtless owing to a heavy fall. He had only three whole
fingers on the right hand, the other two were fearfully mutilated. As
for the left arm it was horribly distorted from its natural position,
the elbow being twisted right round and the joint immovable. Add to
this that one of his legs was shorter than the other. Yet, in spite of
everything, this fraction of a man was so agile that he anticipated all
the others and was the first to courteously kiss the hand of the
descending lady, who shrank back horror-stricken at the contact of those
crippled fingers.
"My wife--my friend Gerzson," said Hatszegi hastening to introduce them
to each other. The master of the house professed himself delighted at
his good fortune; pressed his friend's hand with his third remaining
finger and presented his arm, the stiff one, to the lady who touched it
as gingerly as if she was afraid of hurting it.
The master of the house laughed aloud at her misgivings.
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