Never had a man's hand been so intimate with his ear without hurting it.

But these fingers were provocative only of physical pleasure so keen that he twisted and writhed his whole body in acknowledgment.
Next came a long, steady, upward pull of the ear, the ear slipping slowly through the fingers to the very tip of it while it tingled exquisitely down to its roots.

Now to one ear, now to the other, this happened, and all the while the man uttered low words that Michael did not understand but which he accepted as addressed to him.
"Head all right, good 'n' flat," Dag Daughtry murmured, first sliding his fingers over it, and then lighting a match.

"An' no wrinkles, 'n' some jaw, good 'n' punishing, an' not a shade too full in the cheek or too empty." He ran his fingers inside Michael's mouth and noted the strength and evenness of the teeth, measured the breadth of shoulders and depth of chest, and picked up a foot.

In the light of another match he examined all four feet.
"Black, all black, every nail of them," said Daughtry, "an' as clean feet as ever a dog walked on, straight-out toes with the proper arch 'n' small 'n' not too small.