There was a fox-like cunning in the
face and the sharp little eyes, and also alertness and malice. And yet,
this vile bit of human rubbish seemed to bear a sort of remote and
ill-defined resemblance to me! It was dully perceptible in the mean
form, the countenance, and even the clothes, gestures, manner, and
attitudes of the creature. He was a farfetched, dim suggestion of a
burlesque upon me, a caricature of me in little. One thing about him
struck me forcibly and most unpleasantly: he was covered all over with a
fuzzy, greenish mold, such as one sometimes sees upon mildewed bread.
The sight of it was nauseating.
He stepped along with a chipper air, and flung himself into a doll's
chair in a very free-and-easy way, without waiting to be asked. He
tossed his hat into the waste-basket. He picked up my old chalk pipe
from the floor, gave the stem a wipe or two on his knee, filled the bowl
from the tobacco-box at his side, and said to me in a tone of pert
command:
"Gimme a match!"
I blushed to the roots of my hair; partly with indignation, but mainly
because it somehow seemed to me that this whole performance was very like
an exaggeration of conduct which I myself had sometimes been guilty of in
my intercourse with familiar friends--but never, never with strangers, I
observed to myself.
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