“his vowels thick and strong as big city blocks,”
“Hearing Mrs. Muriel Snider speak, I reflect, is better than being shot. But not by a terribly wide margin.”
“His face is pale mulatto and as blanketed in freckles as New York summers are populated with mosquitoes. His irises are green, peering from behind what some would call spectacles and I’d call a set of awfully sturdy beer steins. Wire-brush grey hair bristles from his pate. I smell cheap whiskey, a sweet-sour cloud, which may or may not be emanating from him. Since he wears only a robe and pajamas, he either resides at the hotel or else doesn’t plan on running for public office.”
“…tense as a high-wire act.”