Summary

Portrait of Thomas Hardy Thomas Hardy The Mayor of Casterbridge — Chapter 5 (1886)

The interruption was sufficient to compel the Mayor to notice it.
"Well, I admit that the wheat turned out badly," he said. "But I was taken in in buying it as much as the bakers who bought it o' me."
"And the poor folk who had to eat it whether or no," said the inharmonious man outside the window.
Henchard's face darkened. There was temper under the thin bland surface—the temper which, artificially intensified, had banished a wife nearly a score of years before.
"You must make allowances for the accidents of a large business," he said.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Thomas Hardy Thomas Hardy The Mayor of Casterbridge — Chapter 5 (1886)

Facing the window, in the chair of dignity, sat a man about forty years of age; of heavy frame, large features, and commanding voice; his general build being rather coarse than compact. He had a rich complexion, which verged on swarthiness, a flashing black eye, and dark, bushy brows and hair. When he indulged in an occasional loud laugh at some remark among the guests, his large mouth parted so far back as to show to the rays of the chandelier a full score or more of the two-and-thirty sound white teeth that he obviously still could boast of.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Thomas Hardy Thomas Hardy The Mayor of Casterbridge — Chapter 5 (1886)

But Elizabeth-Jane noticed that, though this filling went on with great promptness up and down the table, nobody filled the Mayor's glass, who still drank large quantities of water from the tumbler behind the clump of crystal vessels intended for wine and spirits.
"They don't fill Mr. Henchard's wine-glasses," she ventured to say to her elbow acquaintance, the old man.
"Ah, no; don't ye know him to be the celebrated abstaining worthy of that name? He scorns all tempting liquors; never touches nothing. O yes, he've strong qualities that way.
Source: Wikisource

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