The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuMTQ3LjEzMSAtIDI2LTA2LTIwMjQgMTA6MTk6MzcgLSAxNzgxNTg1NzYz
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