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. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them. ’ He threw a fulminating glance at Gerald. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. His age was not far from fifty. Don't ask any more questions.
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