She stared at him. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. ‘Oh, famous. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. 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. “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice.
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