It's all new, every brick of it.

There's not a house the whole way up that isn't as fresh as paint, and the avenue is just as straight as if you'd drawn it with a ruler--" But the change in the city, Gabriella reflected while she embraced Jane, was as nothing compared to the incredible change in Charley himself.
Middle-age had passed over him like some fattening and solidifying process.

He was healthy, he was corpulent, he was prosperous, conventional, and commonplace.

If Gabriella had been seeking, with Hogarthian humour, to portray the evils of torpid and self-satisfied respectability, she could scarcely have found a better picture of the condition than Charley presented.

And the more Charley expanded, the more bloodless and wan Jane appeared at his side.