An old pipe clamored at his nostrils, though it was on the table near the window, the full length of the room from him.

Papers and books were strewn about everywhere.

It was difficult to believe these unkempt and uncouth surroundings, and the personality that had created them, were actually being harbored behind the walls of the Wyandotte.
"What a hole!" grumbled Arkwright.

He was in evening clothes, so correct in their care and in their carelessness that even a woman would have noted and admired.

"What a mess! What a hole!" "How's that ?" came from the bedroom in an aggressive voice, so penetrating that it seemed loud, though it was not, and much roughened by open-air speaking.