His complexion was as swarthy as that of an Italian, and his eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combined with a slight squint, gave them a particularly sinister appearance.
All else in the man--his noble proportions, his fine features, and his frank bearing--fitted in with that jovial, man-to-man manner which he affected.

Here, one would say, is a bluff, honest fellow, whose heart would be sound however rude his outspoken words might seem.

It was only when those dead, dark eyes, deep and remorseless, were turned upon a man that he shrank within himself, feeling that he was face to face with an infinite possibility of latent evil, with a strength and courage and cunning behind it which made it a thousand times more deadly.
Having had a good look at his man, McMurdo elbowed his way forward with his usual careless audacity, and pushed himself through the little group of courtiers who were fawning upon the powerful boss, laughing uproariously at the smallest of his jokes.

The young stranger's bold gray eyes looked back fearlessly through their glasses at the deadly black ones which turned sharply upon him.
"Well, young man, I can't call your face to mind." "I'm new here, Mr.McGinty." "You are not so new that you can't give a gentleman his proper title." "He's Councillor McGinty, young man," said a voice from the group.
"I'm sorry, Councillor.

I'm strange to the ways of the place.