"Only what?" asked his friend.
"Only the pavements are harder and the girls are not so pretty as they
used to be," he replied with a whimsical look of regret in his face
and a twinkle in his still bright eye.
Sir Ralph was a man of striking appearance, tall and imposing in figure.
His head was massive and fine. His full beard was snowy white, as white
as his abundant hair which was of a beautifully soft silky texture, with
a sheen like satin. His voice was low and at times not very distinct.
This was disappointing as his conversation was always interesting, not
only for its intrinsic value, but also by reason of his charmingly varied
and copious vocabulary, and his perfectly balanced phrases. Naturally
and without the least effort the aptest words sprang to his lips in
perfect order and sequence. His letters, too, were always exceedingly
well expressed. He wrote a neat, sloping, rather flowing and somewhat
old-fashioned hand, which greatly resembled the writing of Beau Brummell,
and, like the illustrious Beau's, his numerals, which is rare nowadays,
were very clearly and very beautifully formed.
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