"Butter's so greasy," he said, "when you've just brushed your teeth."
And he went back to his bathroom to rinse his mouth once more.
He was ready now, took his umbrella and followed Gerrit down the stairs. Gerrit opened the door.
"What beastly weather!" growled Paul, furiously, in the passage.
He drew his umbrella carefully out of its case, while Gerrit was already outside, with his blue military coat flapping round his shoulders, because he had not put his arms through the sleeves.
"What a filthy mess!" raved Paul. "This damned, rotten mud!" he cursed, pale with rage.
He had folded up the umbrella-case and slipped it into his pocket and was now opening his umbrella: he seemed to fear that it would get wet.
"Come on!" he said, seething with inward rage.
And, taking a desperate resolve, he stepped aside, fiercely slammed the front-door and carefully placed his feet upon the pavement:
"We'll wait for the tram," he said.
He glared at the rain from under his umbrella:
"What a dirty sky!" he grumbled, while Gerrit paced up and down, only half-listening to what Paul said. "What a damned dirty sky! Dirty rain, filthy streets, mud, nothing but mud. The whole world is mud. Properly speaking, everything
