I should have recognized him for Radnor anywhere, so striking was his resemblance to the brother I had known.

He wore a loose flannel shirt and a broad-brimmed felt hat cocked on one side, and he looked so exactly the typical Southern man of the stage that I almost laughed as I greeted him.

His welcome was frank and cordial and I liked him from the first.
He asked after my health with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Nervous prostration evidently struck him as humorously as it did Terry.

Lest I resent his apparent lack of sympathy however, he added, with a hearty whack on my shoulder, that I had come to the right place to get cured.
A drive over sweet smelling country roads behind blooded horses was a new experience to me, fresh from city streets and the rumble of elevated trains.