And he had done the thing blunderingly, without tact.

For the purpose in view, it would have been enough to speak of his own calamity; just the same effect would have been produced on Franks.

He saw this now, and writhed under the sense of his grossness.

The only excuse he could urge for himself was that Franks' behaviour provoked and merited rough handling.

Still, he might have had perspicacity enough to understand that the artist was not so sunk in squalor as he pretended.
"Just like me," he growled to himself, with a nervous twitching of the face.