Victoria's faded interest. His appearance
was somewhat peculiar. His shortness, combined with his thinness and
breadth, was enough to attract attention. Standing hardly any more than
five foot five, he had disproportionately broad shoulders, and yet they
were so thin that the bones showed bowed at the back. Better fed, he
would have been a bulky man. His hair was dark, streaked with grey; and,
as it was getting very thin and beginning to recede, he gave the
impression of having a very high forehead. His eyes were grey, set
rather deep under thick eyebrows drawn close together into a permanent
frown. Under his rather coarse and irregular nose his mouth showed
closely compressed, almost lipless; a curious muscular distortion had
tortured into it a faint sneer. His hands were broad, a little coarse
and very hairy.

Victoria could not say why she was interested in this man. He had no
outward graces, dressed poorly and obviously brushed his coat but
seldom; his linen, too, was not often quite clean. Immediately on
sitting down at his usual table he would open a book, prop it up against
the sugar bowl, and begin to read. His books did not tell Victoria much;
in two months she noted a few books she did not know, _News from
Nowhere_, _Fabian Essays_, _The Odyssey_, and a book with a long title
the biggest printed word of which was _Niestze_ or _Niesche._ Victoria
could never remember this word, even though her customer read the book
every day for over a month. _The Odyssey_ she had heard of, but that did
not tell her anything.

She had found out his name accidentally. One day he had brought down
three books and had put two under his seat while he read the third. Soon
after he had left, reading still while he went up the stairs. Victoria
found the books under the chair. One was a _Life of William Morris_, the
other the _Vindication of the Rights of Women_. On the flyleaf of each
was written in bold letter. 'Thomas Farwell.'

Victoria could not resist glancing at the books during her half hour for
lunch. The _Life of William Morris_ she did not attempt, remembering her
experiences at school with 'Lives' of any kind: they were all dull.
Marie Wollstonecraft's book seemed more interesting, but she seemed to
have to wade through so much that she had never heard of and to have to
face a style so crabbed and congested that she hardly understood it.
Yet, something in the book interested her, and it was regretfully that
she handed th