In the bright coloured Persian tiles and pictures showing tyrants hunting, you may see just those almond eyes, those blue-black beards, those cruel, crimson lips.
Then came Syme, and next a very old man, Professor de Worms, who still kept the chair of Friday, though every day it was expected that his death would leave it empty.

Save for his intellect, he was in the last dissolution of senile decay.

His face was as grey as his long grey beard, his forehead was lifted and fixed finally in a furrow of mild despair.

In no other case, not even that of Gogol, did the bridegroom brilliancy of the morning dress express a more painful contrast.

For the red flower in his button-hole showed up against a face that was literally discoloured like lead; the whole hideous effect was as if some drunken dandies had put their clothes upon a corpse.