"I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. 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. " "And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?" asked Sir Rowland. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. "Got the rooms mixed. "If I had, you'd not have seen me here," replied Jack, sullenly. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society.
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