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Harald Kaas was sixty.
He had given up his free, uncriticised bachelor life; his yacht
was no longer seen off the coast in summer; his tours to England
and the south had ceased; nay, he was rarely to be found even at
his club in Christiania. His gigantic figure was never seen in the
doorways; he was failing.
Bandy-legged he had always been, but this defect had increased;
his herculean back was rounded, and he stooped a little. His
forehead, always of the broadest--no one else's hat would fit him-
-was now one of the highest, that is to say, he had lost all his
hair, except a ragged lock over each ear and a thin fringe behind.
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