He had also a lot of hair which tumbled over his forehead in heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller.

He looked like a boy who had been ill, but he was crying more as if he were tired and cross than as if he were in pain.
Mary stood near the door with her candle in her hand, holding her breath.

Then she crept across the room, and, as she drew nearer, the light attracted the boy's attention and he turned his head on his pillow and stared at her, his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed immense.
"Who are you ?" he said at last in a half-frightened whisper.

"Are you a ghost ?" "No, I am not," Mary answered, her own whisper sounding half frightened.

"Are you one ?" He stared and stared and stared.