Still, back-numbers have their feelings--and their memories.
I sometimes wonder, as I sit in this wheel-chair, with my abominable legs dangling down helplessly, what Sergeant Marigold thinks of me.

I know what I think of Marigold.

I think him the ugliest devil that God ever created and further marred after creating him.

He is a long, bony creature like a knobbly ram-rod, and his face is about the colour and shape of a damp, mildewed walnut.

To hide a bald head into which a silver plate has been fixed, he wears a luxuriant curly brown wig, like those that used to adorn waxen gentlemen in hair-dressing windows.