Here was grouped a chaotic assemblage of articles--mainly old framed prints and paintings--leaning edgewise against the wall, like roofing slates in a builder's yard.

All the books visible here were folios too big to be stolen--some lying on a heavy oak table in one corner, some on the floor among the pictures, the whole intermingled with old coats, hats, umbrellas, and walking-sticks.
Stephen pushed aside the curtain, and before him sat a man writing away as if his life depended upon it--which it did.
A man of thirty in a speckled coat, with dark brown hair, curly beard, and crisp moustache: the latter running into the beard on each side of the mouth, and, as usual, hiding the real expression of that organ under a chronic aspect of impassivity.
'Ah, my dear fellow, I knew 'twas you,' said Knight, looking up with a smile, and holding out his hand.
Knight's mouth and eyes came to view now.

Both features were good, and had the peculiarity of appearing younger and fresher than the brow and face they belonged to, which were getting sicklied o'er by the unmistakable pale cast.

The mouth had not quite relinquished rotundity of curve for the firm angularities of middle life; and the eyes, though keen, permeated rather than penetrated: what they had lost of their boy-time brightness by a dozen years of hard reading lending a quietness to their gaze which suited them well.
A lady would have said there was a smell of tobacco in the room: a man that there was not.
Knight did not rise.

He looked at a timepiece on the mantelshelf, then turned again to his letters, pointing to a chair.
'Well, I am glad you have come.