In the end, I forgot to publish the last part of the "Postcards" series (of which you can read parts I and II here and here), which I suppose nobody but a very important person had the opportunity to read. I think that, at the time when I wrote this, I still wanted to continue this very erudite text, but my good GRE results quenched the need to further study elaborate, one might even say exquisite, words such as "tyro" and "nostrum." So, here it is, the last paragraph of that text, at which we find out what happened at last once our hero has shaven his face.
And now, I'll just sit and wait for a call from the Swedish Academy.
At the end of the shaving ritual, it looked as if an artist had just limned the outsider's face: he had no more qualms about his now clear-cut features and his appearance in general. Nevertheless, his state of mind did not jibe with his external appearance. His inner tyro apprised him of the growing anxiety within his soul. The stranger realized the shaving of his face had been nothing more than an extemporaneous nostrum, losing its effect as quickly as it stirred his fallow self-respect.