Apparently he was not more than thirty-five.
A healthy colour glowed on his cheeks, and his scars lent him an air of command.

The gold-embroidered dress became him extremely well.
The streets were still asleep.

Not a single one of the market folk as yet showed himself in the city, with his basket on his arm.

Yankel and Bulba made their way to a building which presented the appearance of a crouching stork.

It was large, low, wide, and black; and on one side a long slender tower like a stork's neck projected above the roof.