“Ivan Petrovich returned to Russia an Anglomaniac. With his hair cut short, the starched frill on his shirt-front, the pea-green frock-coat with its multitude of collars, a sour expression on his face, something both brusque and negligent in his manner, the pronunciation of words through his teeth, a sudden wooden laugh, lack of smiles, exclusively political and politico-economic talk, a passion for underdone roast-beef and port wine—everything about him literally reeked of Great Britain; he seemed to be entirely saturated in its spirit.”