“Oh yes!' and suddenly the wintry frost-bound look of care had left Mr. Thornton's face, as if some soft summer gale had blown all anxiety away from his mind; and, though his mouth was as much compressed as before, his eyes smiled out benignly on his questioner.”

“The child had indeed shut up but all the questions that had accumulated on his tongue circulated in his mouth, moved through the passages of his nose and climbed up from there to tickle into his teardrop ducts, so in his moss green pupils, curious, insistent, accusing sparks of questions continued to light up and fade away like fireflies flitting about on summer nights.”

“Mr. Bradford," she said. "I'm not going to propose to you."The twinkle in Mr. Bradford's eyes faded. So did his smile. He managed to keep it on his face. It looked painful."Oh," he said."Mr. Bradford?""Yes?""Would you mind it so very much if...you know...you proposed to me?"The light in Mr. Bradford's eyes jumped to life. He beamed so largely it almost wasn't crooked."If you want.”

“Suddenly the door crashed into the room in a cacophony of shattered, splintered wood, revealing Emil standing in the frame, his small beady eyes fixed on Peter. A satisfied smile split his fat face, his lips peeled away from a mouthful of neglected, black teeth. In his right hand was a half empty bottle of vodka, in his left hand was Elena.”

“A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, Mr. Bounderby looked older; his seven or eight and forty might have had the seven or eight added to it again, without surprising anybody. He had not much hair. One might have fancied he had talked it off; and that what was left, all standing up in disorder, was in that condition from being constantly blown about by his windy boastfulness.”

“...he had a fascinating technique of gnawing [his cigar] from one corner of his mouth to the other, as if his teeth were equipped with trolley tracks, and suddenly grabbing it out and gesticulating wit it before he jammed it back.”