Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. ’ She sniffed and swallowed. And now— I suppose I should be considered too old. 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. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. Spurling, who sat on the right of the table.
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