Humi sedebat scissili palliastro semiamictus, paene alius lurore, ad miseram maciem deformatus, qualia solent Fortunae decermina stipes in triviis erogare.
He was sitting on the ground, half covered by a tattered old cloak, almost unrecognisable in his sallowness, pitiably deformed and shrunken, like those cast-offs of Fortune who are forever begging alms at street corners.
final_alignments\Apuleius_Metamorphoses_Book1.json