The Smuggler: A Tale. Volumes I-IIIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Smuggler: A Tale. Volumes I-III
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Kent (England) -- Fiction; Smugglers -- Fiction
The red and fitful light flashed upon no tall, gaunt form, and lighted
up no wild and commanding features. There was nothing at all poetical
in her aspect: it was such as may be seen every day in the haunts of
misery and vice. Originally of the middle height, though once strong
and upright, she had somewhat sunk down under the hand of Time, and
was now rather short than otherwise. About fifty she had grown fat and
heavy; but fifteen years more had robbed her flesh of firmness and her
skin of its plumped out smoothness; and though she had not yet reached
the period when emaciation accompanies decrepitude, her muscles were
loose and hanging, her face withered and sallow. Her hair, once as
black as jet, was now quite grey, not silver--but with the white
greatly predominating over the black. Yet, strange to say, her eyes
were still clear and bright, though small, and somewhat red round the
lids; and, stranger still, her front teeth were white as ivory,
offering a strange contrast to the wrinkled and yellow skin. Her look
was keen; but there was that sort of habitual jocularity about it,
which in people of her caste is often partly assumed--as an ever ready
excuse for evading a close question, or covering a dangerous
suggestion by a jest--and partly natural, or at least springing from a
fearful kind of philosophy, gained by the exhaustion of all sorts of
criminal pleasures, which leaves behind, too surely, the impression
that everything is but a mockery on earth. Those who have adopted that
philosophy never give a thought beyond this world. Her figure was
somewhat bowed, and over her shoulders she had the fragments of a
coarse woollen shawl, from beneath which appeared, as she stirred the
pot, her sharp yellow elbows and long arms. On her head she wore a
cap, which had remained there, night and day, for months; and, thrust
back from her forehead, which was low and heavy, appeared the
dishevelled grey hair, while beneath the thick and beetling brows came
the keen eyes, and a nose somewhat aquiline and depressed at the
point.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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