Now, that's good," smaking his lips in a pleased way.

And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries through him.

[…] there never was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly, honest, good-natured, and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear, voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that looked at you always straight at the face, as much as to say: I have a clear conscience myself, am afraid of no man, and am altogether above doing a mean action. And thus all the hearty, careless, 'walking gentlemen' of the stage are very certain to be called Charles.

[…] “A little trepidated, if not consternated, they lifted him from his close confinement and put him to bed.”