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. ‘Well said, my dear. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. Wood uttered something like an imprecation.
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