He implied in every phrase that he had done with it all, and that he was counting the hours till he could get back to work.

We shall not rehearse his confession in detail; its main outline will be sufficient.

He had fallen in with some very idle people, and had discovered that a little example and a little practice were capable of producing on his own part a considerable relish for their diversions.

What could he do?
He never read, and he had no studio; in one way or another he had to pass the time.

He passed it in dangling about several very pretty women in wonderful Paris toilets, and reflected that it was always something gained for a sculptor to sit under a tree, looking at his leisure into a charming face and saying things that made it smile and play its muscles and part its lips and show its teeth.