His great dusky hands, never covered by gloves in the summer time, showed amber-coloured nails on bluntly-pointed fingers, turned up at the tips.

Those tips felt like satin when they touched you.

When he wished to be careful, he could handle the frailest objects with the most exquisite delicacy.

His dress was of the recklessly loose and easy kind.

His long frock-coat descended below his knees; his flowing trousers were veritable bags; his lean and wrinkled throat turned about in a widely-opened shirt-collar, unconfined by any sort of neck-tie.