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. It was Blueskin. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. ” “I’ll pay you if I have to work at shirt-making at threepence an hour. “What are your objections?” she said.
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