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. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. ‘Never would he have gone to England. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. After I took the bills it was too late to turn back. My thanks, by the by. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. . It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “Ohmigod! You totally sounded like my grandmother just now!” Michelle exclaimed.
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