The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself.
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