“I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. ” “Who was annoyed?” “Mr. ” He was silent for some moments. "I need not ask whether this is Mr. Sheppard, faintly. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. Think, ma’am. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. You told him there wasn't anything in the pockets?" "Yes. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. 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. And, in applying the term to his friend, Thames meant to pay him a high compliment.
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