The place was perfectly bare, and
roughly flagged with stones. In the corner was a rough thatched shelter,
in which was some straw. But what at once riveted my attention was the
figure of a man, who half lay, half crouched upon the stones, his head
in his hands, in an attitude of utter abandonment. He was dressed in a
rough, weather-worn sort of cloak, and his whole appearance suggested
the basest neglect; his hands were muscular and knotted; his ragged grey
hair streamed over the collar of his cloak. While we looked at him, he
drew himself up into a sitting posture, and turned his face blankly upon
the sky. It was, or had been, a noble face enough, deeply lined, and
with a look of command upon it; but anything like the hopeless and utter
misery of the drawn cheeks and staring eyes I had never conceived. I
involuntarily drew back, feeling that it was almost wrong to look at
anything so fallen and so wretched. But Amroth detained me.
"He is not aware of us," he said, "and I desire you to look at him."
Presently the man rose wearily to his feet, and began to pace up and
down round the walls, with the mechanical movements of a caged animal,
avoiding the posts of the shelter without seeming to see them, and then
cast himself down again upon the stones in a paroxysm of melancholy.
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