‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. 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. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. Brendon.
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