His head protruded out of his torn collar much as the head of the tortoise protrudes from its shell, the throat unwrinkling, the eyes like beads, or pips of jet.

The first thing I noticed was that almost every label seemed to offer a long, white button-front smocklike shirt in the style of Robert Smith of the Cure .

The temper'd metals clash, and yield a silver sound.

You know that Mr. Armadale is alive, pursued the doctor, and you know that he is coming back to England. Why do you continue to wear your widow's dress? ¶ She answered him without an instant's hesitation, steadily going on with her work. ¶ Because I am of a sanguine disposition, like you. I mean to trust to the chapter of accidents to the very last. Mr. Armadale may die yet, on his way home.