Explore "The Broad Highway" by Jeffery Farnol on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I found the Ancient sunning himself in the porch before the inn, as he waited for his breakfast.
"Peter," said he, "I be tur'ble cold sometimes. It comes a-creepin' on me all at once, even if I be sittin' before a roarin' fire or a-baskin' in this good, warm sun -- a cold as reaches down into my poor old 'eart -- grave-chills, I calls 'em, Peter -- ah! grave-chills. Ketches me by the 'eart they do; ye see I be that old, Peter, that old an' wore out."