She talked in this way while she undressed, with an effort to appear at ease; then she sat at the dressing table, ran a comb through her hair, and with her bare back towards me, looking herself in the glass, said: 'Shall I put my face to bed?'
It was a familiar phrase, one that I did not like; she meant, should she remove her make-up, cover herself with grease and put her hair in a net.
'No,' I said, 'not at once.'
Then she knew what was wanted. She had neat, hygienic ways for that too, but there were both relief and triumph in her smile of welcome; later we parted and lay in our twin beds a yard or two distant, smoking. I looked at my watch; it was four o'clock, but neither of us was ready for sleep, for in that city there is neurosis in the air which the inhabitants mistake for energy.
Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited.