You'll be all right w'en yer've 'ad yer beer.

'E's got the temper of an angel w'en 'e's 'ad 'is beer," she explained to Chook, as if her husband were out of hearing.
Partridge sat with his eyes fixed on his plate with the face of a sulky schoolboy.

His long features reminded Chook of a horse he had once driven.

When he had finished eating, he pulled his chair back and buried his silly, obstinate face in the newspaper.

He had evidently determined to ignore Chook's existence.