Decidedly, he ought to have sold himself to the reactionary party.

Pondering in this fashion, he eyed the washstand, feeling a strong inclination to go and wash his hands with a certain powder soap which he saw in a glass jar.

Like all lazy fellows who live upon their wives or children, he had foppish tastes.

Although he wore patched trousers, he liked to inundate himself with aromatic oil.

He spent hours with his barber, who talked politics, and brushed his hair for him between their discussions.