Charles Dickens,
Little Dorrit
(1857)
“ As it met his, the nose came down over the moustache and the moustache went up under the nose. When nose and moustache had settled into their places again, Monsieur Rigaud loudly snapped his fingers half-a-dozen times; bending forward to jerk the snaps at Arthur, as if they were palpable missiles which he jerked into his face. ‘Now, Philosopher!’ said Rigaud. ‘What do you want with me?’ ‘I want to know,’ returned Arthur, without disguising his abhorrence, ‘how you dare direct a suspicion of murder against my mother’s house?’ ‘Dare!’ cried Rigaud. ‘Ho, ho! Hear him! Dare? Is it dare? ”
