- end_line
- 1665
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 1649
- text
- dim and dark. But the aged inmate, though wrinkled as well, looked neat
and hale. Both wall and sage were compounded of like materials,—lime
and dust; both, too, were old; but while the rude earth of the wall had
no painted lustre to shed off all fadings and tarnish, and still keep
fresh without, though with long eld its core decayed: the living lime
and dust of the sage was frescoed with defensive bloom of his soul.
The weather was warm; like some old West India hogshead on the wharf,
the whole chamber buzzed with flies. But the sapient inmate sat still
and cool in the midst. Absorbed in some other world of his occupations
and thoughts, these insects, like daily cark and care, did not seem one
whit to annoy him. It was a goodly sight to see this serene, cool and
ripe old philosopher, who by sharp inquisition of man in the street,
and then long meditating upon him, surrounded by all those queer old
implements, charts and books, had grown at last so wondrous wise. There
he sat, quite motionless among those restless flies; and, with a sound
like the low noon murmur of foliage in the woods, turning over the
- title
- Chunk 5