” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. 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 have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly.
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