
He would be in his mid-fifties by now, and it showed; the whiskers were graying, the gooseberry eyes were watery, and the legions of bottles he had consumed had cracked the viens in that fine nose of his. But he still rode as straight as a lance, and if his voice was wheezy it had lost nothing of its plunger drawl.
Flashman at the Charge, p.26, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.
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