She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight. Perhaps it was loneliness. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. After the day in the library, he constantly demonstrated his affections; Gianfrancesco had never done that. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. 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. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause.
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