3: Phil Bird
A THIN, SMALLISH MAN, with a shiny bald top to his head, deep-set eyes which appeared to hold a laugh— at the persistent irony of life, perhaps— and his whole face, even to the full of his cheeks, crossed at all angles by innumerable lines, he stood just within the door of the room as Nicholas Churchill closed it on himself, and took in Gees standing by the table, the two pint glasses and big jug which Nicholas had provided, and, as reinforcement, the wicker-covered, two gallon jar on the floor. He wore an old-fashioned and rather rusty suit of broadcloth, and above it his face showed the colour of good old oak that has not been too deeply stained— and even the bald top of his head was as much brown as pink. When he opened his mouth to speak, he revealed a set of teeth too pe
