Sullenly he returned to his eating and when he had finished his meal he got to his feet and went outside. He paused by the window and Maris Cristina looked at him, a tall young man, too thin, in worn and shabby clothes. She felt a sharp pang; it was not right, Vicente had no youth. No bright time of riding, no colorful clothes and the courting of girls. He had grown up a frightened and lonely boy in a land of strangers. It was no wonder he had become a frightened young man.
(from The Burning Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
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