He became angry. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. Smith had never seen anything like it. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. His literary instincts began to stir. He's got the gift of the gab.
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