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 don’t want absolution. “How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. “Very much as usual,” said Ramage.
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