Section 3. 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. Give me your staff. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. It wasn’t. Vorsack echoed him. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. ’ He sighed.
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