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three o’clock of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at the door for a moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when I saw someone drawing slowly near along the road. He was plainly blind, for he tapped before him with a stick and wore a great green shade over his eyes and nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old tattered sea-cloak with a hood that made him appear positively deformed. I never saw in my life a more dreadful-looking figure. He stopped a little from the inn, and raising his voice in an odd sing-song, addressed the air in front of him, “Will any kind friend inform a poor blind man, who has lost the precious sight of his eyes in the gracious defence of his native country, England--and God bless King George!--where or in what part of this country he may now be?” “You are at the Admiral Benbow, Black Hill Cove, my good man,” said I. “I hear a voice,” said he, “a young voice. Will you give me your hand, my kind young friend, and lead me in?” I held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature gripped it in a moment like a vise. I was so much startled that I struggled to withdraw, but the blind man pulled me close up to him with a single action of his arm. “Now, boy,” he said, “take me in to the captain.” “Sir,” said I, “upon my word I dare not.” “Oh,” he sneered, “that’s it! Take me in straight or I’ll break your arm.” And he gave it, as he spoke, a wrench that made me cry out. “Sir,” said I, “it is for yourself I mean. The captain is not what he used to be. He sits with a drawn cutlass. Another gentleman--” “Come, now, march,” interrupted he; and I never heard a voice |