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That is Sir Coeur de Lion Plantagenet in the mutton-chop whiskers and the plain gray suit; there is the Laureate in a frockcoat like your own, and the leader of the House of Commons in a necktie you do not envy. That is the kind of thing you want to take the nonsense out of you.
America, I said quietly, just like that. What is it? The sweepings of every country including our own. Isn't that true? That's a fact. Graft, my dear sir. Well, of course, where there's money going there's always someone to pick it up. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Dress does it. Nothing like a dressy appearance. Bowls them over. Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. How are things?
The leaves in the Green Park were withered and dusty, the window-boxes in Mayfair had a tarnished look, and horse and man moved with unwilling languor. A tall young man in a grey frockcoat searched the street for shadow, and finding none entered the doorway of a club which promised coolness. Mr. George Winterham removed his top-hat, had a good wash, and then sought the smoking room.
He wore the long blue double-breasted frockcoat with yellow cuffs and facings and white cap which I knew to be the undress uniform of the Bismarck Cuirassiers, but he was only partially in undress since the long cuirassier thigh-boots in which he strode were conventionally full uniform.
The material met with the customer's approval, a price was agreed upon, and with incredible celerity the vendor made up the purchase into a brown-paper parcel, and stowed it away in Chichikov's koliaska. At this moment a voice asked to be shown a black frockcoat. "The devil take me if it isn't Khlobuev!" muttered our hero, turning his back upon the newcomer. Unfortunately the other had seen him.
Blanche herself tied his tie, and Blanche herself pomaded him with the result that, in his frockcoat and white waistcoat, he looked quite comme il faut. "Il est, pourtant, TRES comme il faut," Blanche remarked when she issued from his room, as though the idea that he was "TRES comme il faut" had impressed even her.
The portrait of our Rafaella, Cristoforo, the portrait we have so long desired, is at last to be given to us!" I heard a chair move, and a slow footstep. Cristoforo appeared, with white hair and black moustache, his tall figure buttoned up in an old- fashioned frockcoat, the petrified, mummified remains of a once handsome man. He walked up to me, took both my hands and shook them ceremoniously.
Twice he snorted into the waiter's countenance as he did this, and then he posted himself in front of the mirror, donned a false shirt-front, plucked out a couple of hairs which were protruding from his nose, and appeared vested in a frockcoat of bilberry-coloured check.
See that gentleman in the brown frockcoat, who is reading the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' on the bench; our workers have piled up hillocks of sand and dust around him, the skirts of his coat have already lost their color. But let this equipage noisily dashing along go by. Four horses, two bits of string, and a fifth horse who is the driver. That is all, and yet one fancies one's self in a postchaise.
His face was heavy; its outlines obscured by fat; the nose, however, was thin and cocked inquisitively, and the eyes, though small, were restless and intelligent. He was over-dressed; his black frockcoat was brand new; the diamond stud which shone in the centre of a vast expanse of shirt- front, was nearly the size of a five-cent piece his appearance filled Bancroft with contempt.
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