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I lived for eighteen months with James Henry Paine, the miser. He occupied a garret room at 177 Bleecker Street, New York; the little house belonged to the Oothout estate. He was apparently 70 or 75 years old, tall, slim-built, with pointed chin; had a sharp, beak-like, rather red nose, whose point turned in to the upper lip; his mouth firm set; his eyes keen, furtive; his forehead high, retreating; bald on the top of the head, and he bore his head carried forward, bent from his shoulders; his walk was a shuffling of one foot in front of the other, about six inches to a step. His face was bearded. He dressed shabbily, or worse; no stockings, shoes tied together with pieces of twine.
It was his habit to go out every morning, at 9 o'clock, and return about the same hour at night or later. When he returned
ASHMEAD AAS. QUID AVARUS? STULTUS ET INSANUS. JAMA. 1897;XXVIII(20):933–934. doi:https://doi.org/10.1001/jama.1897.02440200023002e
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