He was, no doubt, an intelligent nature buried beneath the oppressive burden of race and class; one of those delicate refined minds embedded in a rough envelope, from which they in vain struggle to free themselves.

Thus, in spite of his vigour, he seemed timid and restless, feeling a kind of unconscious shame at his imperfection.

An honest lad he doubtless was, whose very ignorance had generated enthusiasm, whose manly heart was impelled by childish intellect, and who could show alike the submissiveness of a woman and the courage of a hero.

On the evening in question he was dressed in a coat and trousers of greenish corduroy.

A soft felt hat, placed lightly on the back of his head, cast a streak of shadow over his brow.
As the neighbouring clock struck the half hour, he suddenly started from his reverie.