‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. 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. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps.
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