If I'd had any tobacco-reek on me, Simon Cameron wouldn't have let me hold him as long as this.

Persian's hate tobacco." He set the soothed animal down on the lawn, where, after one scornful look at the tugging and helpless dog, Simon Cameron proceeded to rub his arched back against the man's legs, thus transferring a goodly number of fluffy gray hairs to Brice's shabby trousers.

Tiring of this, he minced off, affectedly, toward the distant house that stood at the landward end of the sloping lawn.
As he set the cat down, Brice had stepped out of the shadows of the grove, into the open.

And now, not only his face, but his whole body was clearly visible in the dying daylight.

The girl's eyes ran appraisingly over the worn clothes and the cracking and dusty shoes.