"Who is he indeed?" he muses. "He's a lonely man, Lizzie," he says in a low, sad tone as he turns to look at me. "He's a weary man who has seen and lived through too much. A man who has done too much. Some good, some bad. Some reversible, some irreversible," he wets his lips. "He's a man who's waited all his life for something," he pauses, intently watching me. "For what?" I whisper. "For someone to call his own," he states.
