His netherlip was thick and very prominent; deep creases ran from the corners of his mouth adown his heavy chin; his eyes were dull and lack-lustre, with great pouches under them.

In the main, the air of this son of the great Parliamentarian general was stupid, dull, unprepossessing.
The creases of his mouth deepened as Blake protested against what he termed this outrage that had been done him; he sneered ponderously, thrusting further forward his heavily undershot jowl.
"We are informed, sir, of your antecedents," he staggered Blake by answering.

"We have learnt the reason why you left London and your creditors, and in all my life, sir, I have never known a man more ready to turn his hand to treason than a broken gamester.

Your kind turns by instinct to such work as this, as a last resource for the mending of battered fortunes." Blake crimsoned from chin to brow.

"I'm forejudged, it, seems," he made answer haughtily, tossing his fair locks, his blue eyes glaring upon his judges.