First draft (4)

“I daresay, good sir, if you would pardon the interruption,” (He) waggled
his eyebrows, full of thought, “have you by any chance happened upon, I don’t quite know how to put this,” (His) lips curled, revealing teeth (like) yellow(ish) toadstools).
“Yes?” (He) began to cough, a rude rattle. “Well you see this…property…
has…” “Has what?” (His) eyes riveted upon him, a whiteness, a nod of his
grotty head, as if it was for him to finish. “I’d hate to be the spoiler
of your morning. Let me just be gone, and a word for you is–heedful.”
(His) eyebrows were now a stern furry line. (He) moved off with a bent-over
briskness, as if guided, because his head was fixed toward the ground.
He had been gripping the walking stick tightly and the top piece had made
an odd red marking on his hand.