Sat the unhappy author of all—Lord George Gordon—Chap. lxxiii.
He rose from his bed with a heavy sigh, and wrapped himself in his morning gown. "So she kept her word," he said, "and was constant to her threat!"—Chap. lxxv.
The locksmith's ruddy face and burly form could be descried, beating about as though he was struggling with a rough sea—Chap. lxxix.
Reclining, in an easy attitude, with his back against a tree, and contemplating the ruin with an expression of pleasure—Chap. lxxxi.