Thick layers of dust had turned his red kerchief and his blue shirt to a common gray.

Dust, too, made a mask of his face, and through that mask the eyes peered out, surrounded by pink skin.

Even at its best the long, solemn face could never have been called handsome.

But, on this particular day, he seemed a haunted man, or one fleeing from an inescapable danger.
The two loungers at the door of the hotel instinctively stepped aside and made room for him to pass, but apparently he had no desire to enter the building.

Suddenly he became doubly imposing, as he stood on the veranda and stared up and down at the idlers.