Whether he looked to one side of the road,
or to the other—over distant landscape,

with its smooth undulations, wind-mills, corn, grass, bean fields, wild-flowers, farm-yards, hayricks, and the spire among the wood—

or upwards in the sunny air, where butterflies were sporting round his head, and birds were pouring out their songs—

or downward, where the shadows of the branches interlaced, and made a trembling carpet on the road—

or onward, where the overhanging trees formed aisles and arches, dim with the softened light that steeped through leaves—

one corner of his eye was ever
on the formal head of Mr Dombey,
addressed towards him, and the feather
in the bonnet, drooping so neglectfully
and scornfully between them;

much as he had seen the haughty eyelids
droop; not least so, when the face
met that now fronting it.

(Dombey & Son, Ch. 27)