Jack Aubrey and his neighbour in the rusty black coat stood up at the same time, and they looked at one another: Jack let his face return to its expression of cold dislike — the dying remnants of his artificial rapture were peculiarly disagreeable, as they faded — and in a low voice he said, ‘My name is Aubrey, sir: I am staying at the Crown.’
‘Mine, sir, is Maturin. I am to be found any morning at Joselito’s coffee-house. May I beg you to stand aside?’
For a moment Jack felt the strongest inclination to snatch up his little gilt chair and beat the white-faced man down with it; but he gave way with a tolerable show of civility.

Master and Commander – Patrick O’Brian