1st Gent. How class your man? —as better than the most, Or, seeming better, worse beneath that cloak? As saint or knave, pilgrim or hypocrite? 2d Gent. Nay, tell me how you class your wealth of books The drifted relics of all time.
As well sort them at once by size and livery: Vellum, tall copies, and the common calf Will hardly cover more diversity Than all your labels cunningly devised To class your unread authors. In consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with Mr.
Bulstrode in his private room at the Bank at half-past one, when he was usually free from other callers. But a visitor had come in at one o’clock, and Mr.
Bulstrode had so much to say to him, that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. The banker’s speech was fluent, but it was also copious, and he used up an appreciable amount of time in brief meditative pauses.
Do not imagine his sickly aspect to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort: he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, light-gray eyes, and a large forehead.
Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with openness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs.
Mr. Bulstrode had also a deferential bending attitude in listening, and an apparently fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those persons who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse. Others, who expected to make no great figure, disliked