Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. He was the true optimist; and that he should proceed, serenely unconscious of reefs and storms, she accepted the double buffets. “You wouldn’t. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. Miss Miniver looked out on the world through large emotional blue eyes that were further magnified by the glasses she wore, and her nose was pinched and pink, and her mouth was whimsically petulant. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on.
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