Imagine--we all of us can--the pathetic stamp of consumption with its brilliancy of glance to which the sharply-defined structure of features reminding one of a forsaken temple, give already a far-off look as of one getting unwillingly out of reach; and imagine it on a Jewish face naturally accentuated for the expression of an eager mind--the face of a man little above thirty, but with that age upon it which belongs to time lengthened by suffering, the hair and beard, still black, throwing out the yellow pallor of the skin, the difficult breathing giving more decided marking to the mobile nostril, the wasted yellow hands conspicuous on the folded arms: then give to the yearning consumptive glance something of the slowly dying mother's look, when her one loved son visits her bedside, and the flickering power of gladness leaps out as she says, "My boy!"
Imagine the pathetic stamp of consumption with its brilliancy of glance and sharply-defined features, creating a far-off look as of one getting unwillingly out of reach; and imagine it on an eager Jewish face - the face of a man little above thirty, but aged by suffering, the black hair and beard emphasising the yellow pallor of the skin. Imagine the difficult breathing, the wasted yellow hands: then give to the yearning consumptive glance something of the dying mother's look, when her one loved son visits her bedside, and the flickering power of gladness leaps out as she says, "My boy!"
