In this century people do business, they speculate on the stock exchange, they earn money and they’re stingy. They’re groomed and polished on the surface. They’re impeccably turned out, washed, soaped, scraped, shaved, combed, waxed, smoothed, rubbed, brushed, cleaned on the outside, irreproachable, like a polished stone, discreet, neat and tidy, and at the same time – heaven knows! – in the depths of their consciences lurk dung-heaps and cesspools from which a cow-girl who uses her fingers to blow her nose would shrink.
