Everywhere he found grains of tobacco, trodden cigarette ashes, pencil sharpenings, pen points eaten with rust.
He also found cocoons of cat fur and crumpled bits of rough draft manuscript which had been whirled into all corners by the furious sweeping.
He finally could not help asking himself why he had so long tolerated the fuzzy filth which obscured and incrusted his household.

While he dusted, his indignation against Rateau increased mightily.

"Look at that," he said, perceiving his wax candles grown as yellow as tallow ones.

He changed them.

"That's better." He arranged his desk into studied disarray.