Mr.Thomasson, left among his Titian copies, his gleaming Venuses, and velvet curtains, was a sorry thing.
The man who preserves a cloak of outward decency has always this vulnerable spot; strip him, and he sees himself as others see or may see him, and views his ugliness with griping qualms.

Mr.Thomasson bore the exposure awhile, sitting white and shaking in a chair, seeing himself and seeing the end, and, like the devils, believing and trembling.

Then he rose and staggered to a little cupboard, the door of which was adorned with a pretty Greek motto, and a hovering Cupid painted in a blue sky; whence he filled himself a glass of cordial.

A second glass followed; this restored the colour to his cheeks and the brightness to his eyes.

He shivered; then smacked his lips and began to reflect what face he should put upon it when he went to report to his pupil.
In deciding that point he made a mistake.