He had a way of seeing
every thing in a moment without either staring or stealing glances, and
nobody suspected him of making a scrutiny. In the young surgeon he saw
an object in strong contrast with himself. He was lean and ungainly, shy
and savage, dressed in a long greasy silk morning gown, blotched with
wine and punch over the breast. He wore his own black hair gathered into
a knot behind, and in a neglected dusty state, as if it had not been
disturbed since he rolled out of his bed. This being placed his large,
red, unclean hands, with fingers spread, like a gentleman playing the
harpsichord, upon the table, as he stood at the side opposite to Mr.
Dangerfield, and he looked with a haggard, surly stare on his visitor,
through his great dark, deep-set prominent eyes, streaming fire, the one
feature that transfixed the attention of all who saw him. He had a great
brutal mouth, and his nose was pimply and inflamed, for Bacchus has his
fires as well as Cupid, only he applies them differently. How polished
showed Mr. Dangerfield's chin opposed to the three days' beard of Black
Dillon! how delicate his features compared with the lurid proboscis, and
huge, sensual, sarcastic mouth of the gentleman in the dirty
morning-gown and shapeless slippers, who confronted him with his glare,
an image of degradation and power!
'Tuppince, Docthor Dillon,' said a short, fat, dirty nymph, without
stays or hoop, setting down a 'naggin o' whiskey' between the medical
man and his visitor.
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