He was a man who when seen could hardly be forgotten.

The deep angry remonstrant eyes, the shaggy eyebrows, telling tales of frequent anger,--of anger frequent but generally silent,--the repressed indignation of the habitual frown, the long nose and large powerful mouth, the deep furrows on the cheek, and the general look of thought and suffering, all combined to make the appearance of the man remarkable, and to describe to the beholders at once his true character.

No one ever on seeing Mr.Crawley took him to be a happy man, or a weak man, or an ignorant man, or a wise man.
"You are very punctual, Mr.Crawley," said the bishop.

Mr.Crawley simply bowed his head, still keeping his hands beneath his cloak.
"Will you not take a chair nearer to the fire ?" Mr.Crawley had not seated himself, but had placed himself in front of a chair at the extreme end of the room,--resolved that he would not use it unless he were duly asked.
"Thank you, my lord," he said, "I am warm with walking, and, if you please, will avoid the fire." "You have not walked, Mr.Crawley ?" "Yes, my lord.

I have been walking." "Not from Hogglestock!" Now this was a matter which Mr.Crawley certainly did not mean to discuss with the bishop.