Explore "The Hillman" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Henri Graillot had made himself thoroughly comfortable. He was ensconced in the largest of John's easy chairs, his pipe in his mouth, a recently refilled teacup -- Graillot was English in nothing except his predilection for tea -- on the small table by his side. Through a little cloud of tobacco-smoke he was studying his host.
"So you call yourself a Londoner now, my young friend, I suppose," he remarked, taking pensive note of John's fashionable clothes. "It is a transformation, beyond a doubt! Is it, I wonder, upon the surface only, or have you indeed become heart and soul a son of this corrupt city?"