The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. ” “I am afraid I have not been very nice,” she said sadly.
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