Foglio possessed no power of thought no depth of feeling,
no troublesome sensibilities: nothing but a few commonplace animal instincts.
I sigh as I write these dismal reminiscences of him.
I used to watch and study this patriarchal personage with,
I think, more lively curiosity than any other human person.
He was a rare phenomenon – so reprehensible, in every sense:
so shallow, so delusive, so impalpable, such an absolute nonentity.
My conclusion was that he had no soul, no heart,
no mind; nothing, as I have already said, but instincts.
He was an execrable human being in so many ways.
Paraphrases from the novel The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne.