He was a midget of a man , lame of foot and hunched of back , with a white , boyish face , despite his middle age and deep-set , malicious black eyes . He pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Thyra . He was the unofficial mail-carrier of Avonlea . Most of the people gave him a trifle for bringing their letters and papers from the office . He earned small sums in various other ways , and so contrived to keep the life in his stunted body . There was always venom in August 's gossip . It was said that he made more mischief in Avonlea in a day than was made otherwise in a year , but people tolerated him by reason of his infirmity . To be sure , it was the tolerance they gave to inferior creatures , and August felt this . Perhaps it accounted for a good deal of his malignity . He hated most those who were kindest to him , and , of these , Thyra Carewe above all . He hated Chester , too , as he hated strong , shapely creatures . His time had come at last to wound them both , and his exultation shone through his crooked body and pinched features like an illuminating lamp . Thyra perceived it and vaguely felt something antagonistic in it . She pointed to the rocking-chair , as she might have pointed out a mat to a dog . August crawled into it and smiled . He was going to make her writhe presently , this woman who looked down upon him as some venomous creeping thing she disdained to crush with her foot . `` Did you see anything of Chester on the road ? '' asked Thyra , giving August the very opening he desired . `` He went to the harbor after tea to see Joe Raymond about the loan of his boat , but it 's the time he should be back . I ca n't think what keeps the boy . ''
`` Just what keeps most men -- leaving out creatures like me -- at some time or other XXXXX their lives .
To above as in into like of that through with