He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. 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. Look at these walls. Mrs. ‘You have no need to be afraid of us. "I am only fit for such as him. Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr.
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