His creed consisted in three doctrines: he firmly believed that the arts of lying well, of stealing well, and of receiving a blow in the face without apparently noticing it, were the most useful arts to human life; but, of the three, the last was the only one that he practised successfully.

His intentions were good, but his intellect deficient.
This arrant rogue was only a petty knave that any one could dupe.
Abel Larinski transported himself, in thought, to the tavern in which Samuel Brohl had spent his first youth, and which was as familiar to him as though he had lived there himself.

The smoky hovel rose before him: he could smell the odour of garlic and tallow; he could see the drunken guests--some seated round the long table, others lying under it--the damp and dripping walls, and the rough, dirty ceiling.

He remembered a panel in the wainscoting against which a bottle had been broken, in the heat of some dispute; it had left a great stain of wine that resembled a human face.

He remembered, too, the tavern-keeper, a little man with a dirty, red beard, whose demeanour was at once timid and impudent.