David Copperfield by Charles Dickens Chapter 2 Page 30

the road. He held me quite easily with one arm, and I don’t think I was restless usually; but I could not make up my mind to sit in front of him without turning my head sometimes, and looking up in his face. He had that kind of shallow black eye — I want a better word to express an eye that has no depth in it to be looked into — which, when it is abstracted, seems from some peculiarity of light to be disfigured, for a moment at a time, by a cast.

Several times when I glanced at him, I observed that appearance with a sort of awe, and wondered what he was thinking about so closely. His hair and whiskers were blacker and thicker, looked at so near, than even I had given them credit for being. A squareness about the lower part of his face, and the dotted indication of the strong black beard he shaved close