Explore "The Councillors of Falconhoe" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The man addressed as Vickers smiled in a faint watery sort of way and looked at his questioner with eyes that had no expression in them. He was the pale carcase of a man almost without volition and apparently, on the verge of mental coma. He cocked his head slightly on one side like a dog that hears some half-remembered voice and strives to fit it in with his canine mentality. A man who had evidently suffered greatly both in brain and body and whose hardships had almost deprived him of thought.
He was thin to the verge of emaciation with sunken cheeks and haggard eyes, and here and there his dark hair was plentifully streaked with grey. A man quite young, not more than thirty, and with a frame which once had been a muscular one.