His eyes expressed self-will, perhaps obstinacy, and he had a peculiarly dogged manner of holding his head.

At the present moment he was suffering from extreme fatigue; he let himself sink upon a chair, threw his hat on to the floor, and rested a hand on each knee.
His boots were thickly covered with mud; his corduroy trousers were splashed with the same.

Rain had drenched him; it trickled to the floor from all his garments.
For answer to Sidney's question, he nodded towards his wife, and said in a thick voice, 'Ask her.' 'He's dyed it,' Mrs.Hewett explained, with no smile.

'He thought one of the reasons why he couldn't get work was his lookin' too old.' 'An' so it was,' exclaimed Hewett, with an angry vehemence which at once declared his position and revealed much of his history.

'So it was My hair was a bit turned, an' nowadays there's no chance for old men.
Ask any one you like.