She was of a grave countenance, rarely smiling; yet it seemed to be written upon every part of her that she rejoiced in life.
Her husband loved the heels of her feet and the knuckles of her fingers; he loved her like a glutton and a brute; his love hung about her like an atmosphere; one that came by chance into the wine-shop was aware of that passion; and it might be said that by the strength of it the woman had been drugged or spell-bound.

She knew not if she loved or loathed him; he was always in her eyes like something monstrous--monstrous in his love, monstrous in his person, horrific but imposing in his violence; and her sentiment swung back and forward from desire to sickness.

But the mean, where it dwelt chiefly, was an apathetic fascination, partly of horror; as of Europa in mid ocean with her bull.
On the 10th November 1749 there sat two of the foreign gentlemen in the wine-seller's shop.

They were both handsome men of a good presence, richly dressed.

The first was swarthy and long and lean, with an alert, black look, and a mole upon his cheek.