The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle Appearance Quotes

A man was waiting for us. He was a small man – most seafaring mean are small – barely taller than I and dressed in a frayed green jacket over a white shirt that was none too clean. His complexion was weathered dark, his chin ill-shaven. His mouth was unsmiling. His fingers fidgeted and his feet shuffled. His daring, unfocused eyes, set deep in a narrow ferret-like face, gave the impression of one who is constantly on watch for threats that might appear from any quarter at any moment. (2.1)

There was nothing else. No porthole. No chair. Not so much as a single piece of polite ornamentation. It was ugly, unnatural, and, as I stooped there, impossible. (2.29)

From his fine coat, from his tall beaver hat, from his glossy black boots, from his clean, chiseled countenance, from the dignified way he carried himself, I knew at once – without having to be told – that this must be Captain Jaggery. And he – I saw it in a glance – was a gentleman, the kind of man I was used to. A man to be trusted. In short, a man to whom I could talk and upon whom I could rely. (3.13)

Then I dressed. Unfortunately my starched clothing had gone everlastingly limp and became increasingly soiled. Hardly a button remained in place. Though I tried not to touch anything, those white gloves of mine had turned the color of slate. (8.4)

At last I heaved myself off the bed, and from under it brought out the canvas seaman's garments Zachariah had made for me. Some roaches skittered away. I held the wrinkled clothing up and looked at its crude shape, its mean design. The feel of the crude cloth made me falter. (12.106)

"Hold out your hands," he demanded.

Fisk nudged me. I held them out, palms up.

Foley peered over them. "Like bloody cream," he said with disgust. "Touch mine!" he insisted and extended his. Gingerly, I touched one of them. His skin was like rough leather.

"That's the hands you'd get, miss. Like an animal. Is that what you want?"

"I don't care," I said stoutly. (13.19-13.23)

"Miss Doyle," he said between gritted teeth, "you will go to your cabin, remove those obscene garments and put on your proper dress. You are causing a disruption. I will not allow it." (14.7)

The man before me was not the same Captain Andrew Jaggery I'd seen on the quarterdeck the first day we sailed. True, he still wore his fine clothes, but the jacket was soiled and showed any number of rips. A cuff was frayed, a button gone. Small points perhaps, but not for a man of his fastidiousness. And the whip mark, though no longer so pronounced, had become a thin white line – like a persistent, painful memory. (16.47)

I saw now what I had not seen before in the light of the moon. In the candlelight I could see that much of the furniture was cracked. Many legs had splints. Upholstery was water stained. Frames on the walls hung crookedly. Some had pictures missing. Maps and papers on the table were wrinkled or sadly torn. The tea service on the table was dented and tarnished, but arranged and presented as whole. The chess pieces were, I now realized, no more than salt and pepper shakers, broken cups, bent candlesticks. (21.36)

We settled into the family carriage.

"Why is Charlotte's dress so tattered?" Evelina asked.

"It was a difficult voyage, dearest," my mother answered for me.

"And her gloves are so dirty," Albert chimed in.

"Albert!" Papa reproved him.

But then, after we'd gone on apace in silence, my mother said, "Charlotte, your face is so very brown." (22.40-22.45)