The man in this story is a taxi driver. He is about fourty years old, and looks it. From the rear seat of his cab, our post during the brief course of this story, one sees only his ears and neck, the side of a cheek under his cap, and the fringe of his light sandy hair, the kind that seems to have changed scarcely at all when it has gone grey. Of course, one sees much more when he turns his face to his passenger, as he will do several times.
When he turns his face, we shall see the lines under his eyes and about his mouth; but even if he did not turn, the set of his jaw as it curves into his ear, the processes of muscle and tendon in the neck defined by the slow hardening inward and softening outward of his tissues, these by themselves would be enough to let us know his age. His face, when he does turn, is—is a face; a face with a sallow but not unhealthy color; he is one of those with that pale sameness of color and texture in cheek, lips, forehead; a serviceable hide. He has grey eyes, a wide strong mouth, a long crooked nose with a thickened bridge. Wc shall see the expression of feelings on this face. He appears to have very large shoulders. His hands on the wheel look strong, with heavy knuckles.
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