A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner. Hard and sharp as flint.
The cold within him freezes his old features, nips his pointed nose, stiffens his gait; makes his eyes red, his lips blue.
No warmth can warm, nor wintry weather chill him. No wind that blows is bitterer than he.
External cold has no influence on this frigid old sinner.
He carries his own low temperature always about with him, and does not thaw one degree at Christmas ‒ and this is the day before Christmas.
‒ Bah! Humbug! What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.
‒ What reason have you to be dismal, uncle? You're rich enough.
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