Narramore was the image of luxurious indolence; he had pleasant features, dark hair inclined to curliness, a well-built frame set off by good tailoring.
His income from the commercial house in which he held a post of responsibility would have permitted him to occupy better quarters than these; but here he had lived for ten years, and he preferred a few inconveniences to the trouble of moving.

Trouble of any kind was Robert's bugbear.

His progress up the commercial ladder seemed due rather to the luck which favours amiable and good-looking young fellows than to any special ability or effort of his own.

The very sound of his voice had a drowsiness which soothed--if it did not irritate--the listener.
"Tell them to lay out the truckle-bed," said Hilliard, when he had pulled the bell.

"I shall stay here to-night." "Good!" Their talk was merely interjectional, until the visitor had begun to appease his hunger and had drawn the cork of a second bottle of bitter ale.
"This is a great day," Hilliard then exclaimed.