Explore "A Hazard of New Fortunes" by William Dean Howells on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
March pushed the door open into a room like that on the left, but with a writing-desk instead of a cobbler's bench, and a bed, where Lindau sat propped up; with a coat over his shoulders and a skullcap on his head, reading a book, from which he lifted his eyes to stare blankly over his spectacles at March. His hairy old breast showed through the nightshirt, which gaped apart; the stump of his left arm lay upon the book to keep it open.
"Ah, my tear yo'ng friendt! Passil! Marge! Iss it you? " he called out, joyously, the next moment.