Betsey looked pitifully at the old hat fringed with icicles, like frozen tears, and the old snow-laden coat.
Icicles from burst water-pipes hung along the skirt of his brown dog-skin overcoat; his plush cap, which he never took off in the house, was a pulp of ice and coal-dust; his red hands were cracked to rawness; he chewed the stub of a cigar.