Then he warmed to it, and smoothly set out all his shifts, malices, and treacheries, his extreme boldnesses (he was desperate bold); his retreats, shufflings, and counterfeitings (he was also inconceivably a coward) […]
The bustle, the dexterity, the alert force of the iron foundry, the glass furnace, the gunpowder mill, the silk calendry are as skilfully reproduced as the more tranquil toil of the dairywoman, the embroiderer, the confectioner, the setter of types, the compounder of drugs, the chaser of metals.
The seely man seeing him ryde so rancke, / And ayme at him, fell flat to ground for feare […].
It was after nine now, and the room, scented with the acrid smoke of Westfield's cheroot, was stifling hot.
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