The barman flattened a mosquito on his cheek, the smack sounded like a kiss.

Dicky Freeman emptied his glass, and then stared through the bottom as if he wondered where the liquor had gone.
"I assure you for the moment I was staggered," said Dad, rounding off his story.

"I am aware that my nose has added to the gaiety of nations, but it was the first time that it had been reckoned as a creature distinct from myself with an individuality of its own." Dad Grimes was a man of fifty, wearing a frock coat that showed a faint green where the light fell on the shoulders, and a tall silk hat that had grown old with the wearer.

But for his nose he might have been an undertaker.

It was an impossible nose, the shape and size of a potato, and the colour of pickled cabbage--the nose for a clown in the Carnival of Venice.