He came shuffling along with his head bent, but raising his eyes as he approached me, he threw up his hands in astonishment, exclaiming, "Santissima Madonna! But you are a fine man--a fine man! Eh, eh! Holy Joseph! What height and breadth! A pity--a pity you are old; you must have been strong when you were young!" Half in joke, and half to humor him in his fancy for mere muscular force, I rolled up the sleeve of my jacket to the shoulder, saying, lightly, "Oh, as for being strong! There is plenty of strength in me still, you see." He stared; laid his yellow fingers on my bared arm with a kind of ghoul-like interest and wonder, and felt the muscles of it with childish, almost maudlin admiration.
"Beautiful, beautiful!" he mumbled.

"Like iron--just think of it! Yes, yes.

You could kill anything easily.

Ah! I used to be like that once.

I was clever at sword-play.