He lay still in his chair with his head back and eyes half-closed, a passive, pathetic figure with the shoulders of a strong man and the weak, shrunken limbs of a cripple.

His face was quite smooth.

It might have belonged to a boy of seventeen save for the eyes, which were deeply sunken and possessed the shrewd, quizzical intelligence of age.
He lay quite motionless as though he were accustomed to remain for hours in one position.

Hudson the valet tended him with the reverence of a slave.

Nap fell to pacing soundlessly to and fro, awaiting the man's exit with what patience he could muster.
"You can go now, Tawny," the elder Errol drawled at last.