cimorene

'Where did he leave his clothes?'

'It's his head we are as much concerned about,' said Mrs Bradley kindly.

'They seem to have lost a man called Jacob Hobson. At least, his wife has. So awkward, of course, to lose one's husband at the weekend.'

'An artist. That is, in the popular conception, a man without morals, personal decency, or legal obligations. A pariah, an outcast, an unscrupulous dodger of debts. A promiscuous sitter on other people's unmade beds, a habitant of yet other people's made ones. A sipper of absinthe and imbiber of cocoa. A creature long-haired, filthy, depraved, and mentally unbalanced. A cocaine fiend, a dram drinker, an apostle of obscenity, lust, and freedom.'

'...And here's this hirsuite little liar ready with his tall story - which we can't altogether disprove -'

'Pardon me, Inspector. "Hirsuite little liar". Thank you so much. My nephew collects such bon mots. You were saying?'