"Light and motion flashed from every part of it [his face].

It was as if made of steel." The first part of the phrase is true and graphic enough, but the image offered by the last words appears to me a singularly infelicitous one.

There was nothing of the hardness or of the (moral) sharpness of steel about the expression of Dickens's face and features.

Kindling mirth and genial fun were the expressions which those who casually met him in society were habituated to find there, but those who knew him well knew also well that a tenderness, gentle and sympathetic as that of a woman, was a mood that his surely never "steely" face could express exquisitely, and did express frequently.
I used to see him very frequently in his latter years.

I generally came to London in the summer, and one of the first things on my list was a visit to 20, Wellington Street.