It stuck in their flesh.

It gave them the idea that they saw their features hideous, but real, in a magnifying mirror.
There was therefore a feud between the Tinleys and the Poles; and when Mr.Pericles entirely gave up the former, the latter rewarded him by spreading abroad every possible kind interpretation of his atrocious bad manners.

He was a Greek, of Parisian gilding, whose Parisian hat flew off at a moment's notice, and whose savage snarl was heard at the slightest vexation.

His talk of renowned prime-donne by their Christian names, and the way that he would catalogue emperors, statesmen, and noblemen known to him, with familiar indifference, as things below the musical Art, gave a distinguishing tone to Brookfield, from which his French accentuation of our tongue did not detract.
Mr.Pericles grimaced bitterly at any claim to excellence being set up for the mysterious voice in the woods.

Tapping one forefinger on the uplifted point of the other, he observed that to sing abroad in the night air of an English Spring month was conclusive of imbecility; and that no imbecile sang at all.