For the same reason it was his custom, before being valeted by Petrushka, always to plug his nostrils with a couple of cloves.

In short, there were many occasions when his nerves suffered rackings as cruel as a young girl's, and so helped to increase his disgust at having once more to associate with men who set no store by the decencies of life.

Yet, though he braced himself to the task, this period of adversity told upon his health, and he even grew a trifle shabby.

More than once, on happening to catch sight of himself in the mirror, he could not forbear exclaiming: "Holy Mother of God, but what a nasty-looking brute I have become!" and for a long while afterwards could not with anything like sang-froid contemplate his reflection.

Yet throughout he bore up stoutly and patiently--and ended by being transferred to the Customs Department.