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‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready. 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. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Every window in the public house was filled with guests; and, as in the case of St. Hogarth, and Mr. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully.
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