As he stood on Madame Olenska's threshold curiosity was his uppermost feeling. [That, and the boner in his pants.]

The door was opened by a swarthy foreign-looking maid...whom he vaguely fancied to be Sicilian.

Ooo-kay, that is about as much of this shit as I can take. The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. Anybody want to borrow a book?