Pfaugh

Pfaugh! — the history of the day was done; but up-stairs, in my naked, noisy room, began a history of the night, which was much more frightful to me.

"They live in New York, and he had the effrontery to give me a dinner and ask all his collaborators to it, fat, paunchy men who smelled of money. Pfaugh!"

"But not so many as of us, eh? Why do you suppose that is? Because they bob up and down while they pray? Because every Friday they air their bedding out? Pfaugh."