demonstrative eloquence

I could see Tom in the Bisto mirror on the wall as he took a bottle off the shelf side-handed without breaking stride, and placed it on the counter.

Even a trip to beautiful California can be a disappointment.

Indeed, her hands—rough, calloused, scaly, and gnarled—were more like that of an old man than an old lady, testifying to her claim that she’d “Don’ don’ mens work, pickin’ an’ choppin’ cotton, puttin’ up fence rows, cuttin’ wood, takin’ keer of a fahm, fuh near sixty-fi’ years.”