He wore a great coat in midsummer, being affected with the trembling delirium, and his face was the color of carmine.

A little beer mixed with soggy tobacco or pot oozes out of one can near Ken's bare, hairy feet. He just sits there, hunched over, while air explodes in-out his mouth, and beer spreads in an octopusish pattern.

...let Fanchette come in a hackney-coach in the morning, and I will direct the housekeeper to send you something of every thing—plate, candlesticks, lamps, damask—and you won't take it amiss if we should happen to have game or poultry come up that I put that amongst the conveniences;...

It's quite a leap to claim that those cloud formations are evidence of UFOs.