He was spread out
luxuriously and Josh watched the process of shaving as if he had
never seen it before. Indeed, he never had seen a shave in such
pomp and circumstance of silver and gold, of ivory and cut glass,
of essence and powder.
"That's a very ladylike performance for two men to be engaged in,"
said he.
"It's damn comfortable," answered Grant lazily.
"Where did you get that thing you've got on?"
"This gown? Oh, Paris. I get all my things of that sort there.
Latterly I get my clothes there, too." "I like that thing," said
Craig, giving it a patronizing jerk of his head. "It looks cool
and clean. Linen and silk, isn't it? Only I'd choose a more
serviceable color than white. And I'd not have a pink silk lining
and collar in any circumstances."
He wandered about the room.
"Goshalimity!" he exclaimed, peering into a drawer. "You must have
a million neckties. And"--he was at the partly open door of a
huge closet--"here's a whole roomful of shirts--and another of
clothes." He wheeled abruptly upon the smiling, highly-flattered
tenant of the arm-chair. "Grant, how many suits have you got?"
"Blest if I know. How many, Walter?"
"I really cannot say, sir.
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