—Captain Rees Howell Gronow, Anecdotes of the Camp, the Court, and the Clubs “Well, well.” Sanderson Faulks carefully folded up Miss Thorne’s letter of introduction. “I confess I am astonished, Mr. Harkness.” “I would not have thought a man such as yourself would be easily astonished, Mr. Faulks.” The first word that had come to Harkness’s mind when he met Sanderson Faulks was “affected.” Clearly one of the dandy set, his hair was brilliantly anointed with the macassar oil George Byron had made popular, and if his white breeches and bottle green coat had been any tighter, he would have asphyxiated. His hands were the whitest Harkness had ever seen. It might be a hazard of his profession, but Harkness distrusted any man whose hands were too clean. It usually meant they spent a great deal of time washing off the stains. The rooms Faulks occupied were a match for the man. Harkness had never seen such a collection of paintings and statuary outside a public gallery.
