To go into details would take too long.

We entered the bath, finally, and after sweating for a minute or two in the warm room, we passed through into the cold water.

But short as was the time, Trimalchio had already been sprinkled with perfume and was being rubbed down, not with linen towels, however, but with cloths made from the finest wool.
Meanwhile, three masseurs were guzzling Falernian under his eyes, and when they spilled a great deal of it in their brawling, Trimalchio declared they were pouring a libation to his Genius.

He was then wrapped in a coarse scarlet wrap-rascal, and placed in a litter.

Four runners, whose liveries were decorated with metal plates, preceded him, as also did a wheel-chair in which rode his favorite, a withered, blear eyed slave, even more repulsive looking than his master.