England had made him florid and Anglo-Saxon, but the tropics had bleached his skin and dried his straw-colored hair till it looked like hay.

His figure was short and rather clumsily built, but it had a certain strength and determination; so had his face.

The determination was not expressly stated by any single feature--the mouth was not what you would call firm, and the chin retreated ever so slightly in a heavy curve--but it was somehow implied by the whole.

He gave you the idea of iron battered in all the arsenals of the world.

Miss Batchelor wondered what he would have to say for himself.
He said very little, and looked at nobody, until some casual remark of his made somebody look at him.