His tunic was always worn out and patched, but his weapons were mounted in silver.
The policeman drew from the pocket of his tunic a dirty note-book.
Jorgenson, with his hands deep in the pockets of his tunic, listened, looking down.
He did not attempt to go to sleep; he did not even unbutton the top button of his tunic.
How shall I describe the agony which Tunic's narrative ...