Charlotte Brontë

“ My mother, I perceived, had bequeathed to me much of her features and countenance—her forehead, her eyes, her complexion. No regular beauty pleases egotistical human beings so much as a softened and refined likeness of themselves; for this reason, fathers regard with complacency the lineaments of their daughters' faces, where frequently their own similitude is found flatteringly associated with softness of hue and delicacy of outline. ”

“ He went on.
"Not that I admire a head of that sort; it wants character and force; there's too much of the sen-si-tive (so he articulated it, curling his lip at the same time) in that mouth; besides there is Aristocrat written on the brow and defined in the figure; I hate your aristocrats."
"You think then, Mr. Hunsden, that patrician descent may be read in a distinctive cast of form and features?" ”

“ Crimsworth, but I had never spoken to him, nor he to me, and I owed him a sort of involuntary grudge, because he had more than once been the tacit witness of insults offered by Edward to me. I had the conviction that he could only regard me as a poor-spirited slave, wherefore I now went about to shun his presence and eschew his conversation.
"Where are you going?" asked he, as I edged off sideways. I had already noticed that Mr. Hunsden indulged in abrupt forms of speech, and I perversely said to myself—
"He thinks he may speak as he likes to a poor clerk ”

“ I turned; at my elbow stood a tall man, young, though probably five or six years older than I—in other respects of an appearance the opposite to common-place; though just now, as I am not disposed to paint his portrait in detail, the reader must be content with the silhouette I have just thrown off ”