Explore "Hard Pressed" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Aaron Phillips was standing up with something like a smile upon his face. He was a short, slim person, swarthy and foreign-looking, except for the pair of keen blue eyes which bespoke the Anglo-Saxon in his blood. From the roots of his hair across to his left temple was a long, angry red furrow which looked like a comparatively freshly-healed wound. As to the rest, he was fairly well dressed, with that indescribable air of nattiness which usually pertains to those who belong to the _genus_ "horsey."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Fielden," he grinned.