He was tall, thin, modest, and even diffident.

He slipped into your cell, as I said before, with the deferential air of an undertaker.

His speech was extremely soft and rapid, although he stuttered a little now and then from nervousness.
"I suppose you know," I asked on his first visit, "what I am here for ?" "Y-e-s," he stammered, with something like a blush.

I said no more, for it was evident he wished to avoid the subject, and I really think he was sorry to see me persecuted in the name of Christ.

He had called, he said, to see whether he could do anything for me.