I finally got my own set of house keys when I turned eleven. It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. 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. “I cannot keep silence any longer.
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