...of shirtiness

No one in the Stahov household had ever seen the retired lieutenant of the guards in so sour a mood and at the same time so full of self-assurance and his own importance as he was on that day. He came into the drawing-room in his coat and hat, walking slowly with his legs wide apart and stamping his heels on the floor. Going up to the mirror he gazed at himself intently, biting his lips and wagging his head with calm severity. Anna Vassilyevna met him with outward excitement and secret pleasure (she invariably felt the same way when she met him); he did not even greet her or take off his hat, but silently stretched out his hand for Elena to kiss his chamois leather glove. Anna Vassilyevna began to question him about his course of treatment - he did not reply; Uvar Ivanovich came in - he glanced at him and said: 'Ba.' He was usually cold and patronising with Uvar Ivanovich, though he recognised in him 'traces of the genuine Stahov blood'. Most good Russian families, of course, are convinced of the existence of special characteristics of their breed which are possessed by them alone; one not infrequently hears talk entre nous of the 'such-and-such nose' or the 'such-and-such neck'. Zoya came into the room and curtsied to Nikolai Artyomevich. He grunted, sat down in an arm-chair, demanded coffee and only then took off his hat. The coffee was brought and he drank a cup; then looking at each in turn he growled:

'Kindly leave the room' - adding, as he turned to his wife:

'Et vous, madame, restez, je vous prie.'

[On The Eve, Turgenev, I. S.]